


Carmine Red

by xdestroying



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blood, Dark, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Torture, Violence, Weapons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-05 22:41:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 37,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11023086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xdestroying/pseuds/xdestroying
Summary: Matsumoto Jun has always worked alone, and it has suited him perfectly fine. So, understandably, he gets more than a little obstinate when he is one day assigned a partner. But this partner turns out to be more than just your average assassin.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My take on an Assassin AU. Includes several dark themes, you have been warned.  
> Title is loosely inspired by Kamelot's "The Human Stain".

_”Target in sight.”_

_”Copy. Remain on standby.”_

_The man is standing in the crowd, flanked by two broad guards in suits and sunglasses. If it was not so cliché, it might have looked cool. No, on second thought, body guards like that are probably just for display, with no real fight in them._

_“Alright, I am preparing stage two.”_

_“Slow.”_

_The mass of people consists of an array of ages and colours, and from here, they all look so small, so insignificant, their faces a blurry mass of eyes and lips. It is hard to see, from this distance, if those smiles are real. If their cheering for the military leader comes from the heart, or from fear._

_He runs his gloved hand down the smooth, black side of the weapon, adjusts his grip, keeping his eyes fixed on the target through the scope._

_“Oi, Sakurai, what is taking you so long?”_

_“Impatient as always, MatsuJun. I know you think you will not mess this up, but I have to cover all bases, should you miss.”_

_“I won’t miss.”_

_The person on the other end hums. Unimpressed as usual._

_There is movement in Jun’s line of sight._

_“Sakurai.”_

_“Got ya’. You have permission to kill.”_

_“If I hit, sushi is on you tonight.”_

_“Forget your damn anago for just one moment, please.”_

_And the bullet flies._

There will always be blood.  
  
*  
  
_2 months earlier_  
  
The sound of a suitcase on wheels against stone floor accompanies the rhythmic tap of dress shoe heels in the wide hallway. Each step is as long as the one before, a perfectly balanced walk albeit with swaying hips and crossing feet.

Eyes are fixed forward, never wavering or distracted by the surrounding advertisements, coffee stalls or people pulling their own luggage along despite how some of them turn to look.

There is no time for idling when he aims to catch his flight at gate 36B, planning to be just in time as they begin the boarding of JAL priority customers. Dragged over his arm, is his leatherjacket, ticket ready between two fingers.

He has been to this particular airport countless of times before, and he is making no trip to an unknown destination, hence the disinterest in looking around. He has seen it all already. And with the golden airline member card in his pocket, he will find himself pleasantly seated in 1st class with a glass of orange juice in less than 30 minutes. One of the many advantages to this particularly line of work which accommodate his taste perfectly.

For this trip, however, there is one minor difference, one Jun hopes will not be the cause of too much annoyance.

A female voice brings the announcement of boarding just as Jun steps around the corner to the gate, and increasing the length of his strides a little, Jun makes it as number three in the line, after two boring-looking business people.

A couple of young girls sitting just beside the counter in a blue sofa giggle quietly, and a smirk forms on Jun’s lips. Just for the sake of his own satisfaction, he turns his head to throw them a glance of smug awareness just as he hands over the ticket and his card to the flight attendant. She asks for his passport and he hands it over, colors of crimson and golden shining in the sun from the windows.

Like any other passport, his face is on the first page, personal information is tapped out in black and each page is covered in an intricate design in a faded color. Yet, only one other passenger on this plane has a passport like Jun’s.

Once he is through the gates, he makes his way onto the airplane quickly, giving the steward who greets him and shows him to his seat a polite nod.

Someone else is already sitting in the window seat beside Jun’s, displaying no interest in his new neighbor, with eyes fixed out the window. And Jun does not greet the man either, merely throws him a quick glance before stashing his baggage above their heads and sits down, making himself comfortable in the soft, wide seat. With eyes on the small personal screen in front of him, Jun rolls his shoulders to remove some of the stiffness there, before settling his hands in his lab.

The silver of his rings shine as it reflects the light from outside the plane.

The man beside him seems to fall asleep as they take off, his head resting on the pillow smashed up against the wall, up until the seatbelt sign gets turned off, and Jun can finally ask for his orange juice.

And just as Jun pulls the plastic table up from the hidden storage in the armrest, a white napkin, folded in half, is placed on top of it. It gets delivered discreetly between two of Jun’s neighbour’s slender fingers, with no words to accompany it, but Jun asks no questions. Neither does he look at the message handed to him. Instead, when the stewardess comes by with his drink, he boldly places the moist glass on top of the soft paper.

Maybe he imagines it, but a quiet snort can be heard to his right, and Jun very briefly wonders whether the person is amused or offended. Not that it would matter to Jun anyway. After a sip of his cold drink, Jun emits a short, satisfied sigh and lets himself fall further back into the cradling softness of the priority class seat.

Aside from his neighbour, there are no other passengers in the small compartment, just as planned, and thus, Jun can enjoy the quiet of the ride all the way to China. Or so he had hoped.

“You know, for someone as renowned as you, you sure pay little respect to your superiors.” The person next to Jun has a manly voice, deep but not nasal like Jun’s, and again Jun finds that he cannot quite figure out whether the man is amused or offended.

He takes another sip of his orange juice. A wet ring is left on white.

There is no need for the two of them to introduce themselves. Jun knows exactly who this man is, and the man probably knows more about Jun than Jun does about him. There is no need for presentations because they will not use their real full names in public anyway. During the usual missions, even at headquarters, they use aliases, sometimes merely numbers.

“I do not need 5 hours to stare at a napkin with a scribble of ink on it. We both know where we are heading.”

This time, he hears the man scoff.

“They told me you were cocky.”

Jun is number 21. A small number, but he knows the man beside him has been in the organisation for much longer. In terms of time within the company, Jun has been paired up with someone far his superior.

Finally, Jun goes out of his way to turn and look at his neighbour. He has seen a picture of the man, to accompany the pile of necessary papers, but of course, it is nothing compared to the experience of seeing him in person. Jun has to admit that he is handsome.

As a matter of fact, the man can pride himself with having more than one nice feature. But that just adds to his advantages does it not? In this sort of dirty business they are in, they have to look more than clean - sharp. Perhaps, Jun’s neighbour would not have been as famous as he is, had he been less of a looker.

 _Perhaps_.

As of now, Jun is only making guesses. It is not his place to ask any questions. And he will find out sooner or later, once they get to work.

“And they told me you were arrogant.” Jun answers, eyebrow raised just as a smirk pulls at the corner of his partner’s full lips.

Sakurai Sho does not stop looking at Jun as he pulls up his own airplane table,

“Let me tell you a thing or two, junior.”

And then he waves at the stewardess and asks for whiskey.

While Sakurai starts blabbering about honouring traditions, and how it is only appropriate for Jun to at least look at the bloody letter on the napkin, Jun quickly realises that his new partner is old-fashioned and boring. Certainly, a gap of only two years in age between them should not have caused this much of a difference in their values. Following that line of thought, Jun interprets that he and Sakurai must be from very different backgrounds and have probably not been handled and trained by the same person.

Jun sighs and responds if only just to get the man to shut up, “Ok, I get it, old man.” He turns with his glass halfway to his mouth, “But do you seriously mean to say that I _need_ to look at the freaking letter to do my job?”

“You do not know whether I am pretending to be someone I am not.”

“Relax and keep your voice down. No one knows anything yet. So, if not my colleague, I cannot guess who could have snuck into this airplane on such short notice.”

Sakurai’s eyes narrow dangerously, but Jun is far from fazed by it.

So far, Jun has been doing more than just fine on his own, and from the very beginning when he received the orders, he has been disapproving of this partnership. Never has he met another employee in the same profession from the agency, and thus never imagined he would ever be forced to work together with one of them. Considering his job, this is totally unheard of. Either, this job really is more important than he initially thought, or his superiors decided that Jun is still lacking something. But Jun just cannot think of what that would be. Which is why Jun is so obstinate.

“I never imagined you would be this childish.” Sakurai says.

Furrowing his brow, Jun snaps his head back to stare hard at him, heart beating wildly in his chest in embarrassment and anger.

“Watch what you say. I am as deadly as you.”

Jun does not know how to react when his words seem to leave no effect whatsoever. If anything, Sakurai only looks even more mocking.

“We shall see.” Sakurai declares, and Jun promises himself that he will get this mission over with as soon as possible, and with close to no interaction with this son of a bitch.

One thing is having to work with someone else – which already wounds Jun’s pride – but being paired with a man like _this_? This is a total mismatch and a miscalculation from the agency, and _a pain_ in Jun’s ass. Jun already hates this Sakurai Sho, who is currently putting on a set of fat headphones to watch a film about the structural layout of sewers in China, before he boldly leans against their shared armrest.

With a silent snarl Jun yanks the eye mask from his pocket and resists the urge to poke his tongue out, because that would only prove Sakurai’s earlier statement.

Damn it all.

 

Three hours in the air, and Jun feels a poke on his right arm, this small, obnoxious amount of pressure awakening him from his blissful slumber. For a second, he is disoriented, asking himself where he is, until he takes off his mask and stares into Sakurai’s Sho’s dark brown eyes.

Jun starts and leans back immediately, “Close!”

“They are serving lunch now,” Sakurai states.

Jun does not fail to catch the smirk Sakurai does not even try to hide, and Jun hopes he is not as red in the face as he feels.

“Who cares,” he grumbles, but folds and puts away his mask nevertheless.

“I care,” Jun can hear Sakurai fiddle with his table again, “I do not need my partner to be working on only 50 percent energy, because he is too stubborn to eat lunch.”

Okay, so now he dotes on Jun like a mother hen? Jun scrunches his nose in disgust, just about to fire a nasty comeback Sakurai’s way, but gets interrupted when the man reaches across Jun, almost knocking him in the chest with an elbow, forcing Jun to press himself back into his seat, avoiding contact but not the smell of Sakurai’s cologne.

Sakurai thanks the stewardess politely and shoots her a charming smile.

A tray of food is put down in front of Jun.

“Eat.” Sakurai commands.

And Jun is seething, anger bubbling dangerously close to the surface, and it is only, _only_ because this guy is technically (not technically) his senior that he does not make a fuss. Moreover, Jun does not like the thought of wasting food, even if it is produced in the air and not in a proper kitchen. This is the only thing which Jun dislikes about flying, and he can only imagine the horrors which the people in economy class must face during service.

Wiping his hands in the hot towel, which Sakurai apparently also fetched him before poking him awake, he notices how neatly the other man rolls it back together and places it at the corner of his table before moving to remove the tinfoil from his package of food.

Sakurai got chicken for them both, but Jun does not complain, resigning to his fate and gets a small bottle of wine to soothe his bubbling annoyance instead. Not that the wine is anywhere near good enough to make him feel less angry about the situation.

Perhaps it is just the combination of factors which puts Jun off: The way Sakurai seems to have the upper hand from the get go, controlling everything before Jun has time to get into his rhythm and convince Sakurai that his way of dancing is better. Perhaps it is Sakurai himself who annoys Jun to no end, or maybe Jun has just convinced himself from the beginning that it is better to be sour. No matter the reason, Jun realises that he should calm himself down as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

None of them are children, they are adults, and they have a job. Jun is nothing if not professional, and he must get through this in order to move on to the next job.

If only it was so simple.  
  
*  
  
At 5:34 am. Chinese time, the plane lands safely in Beijing.

Jun takes his time when bringing down his luggage from the storage above their heads, if only to have Sakurai wait those few extra seconds, to narrow his eyes at Jun, so Jun can smirk back at him. He tells himself he is not trying to sabotage this mission, it is just that no one told Jun he had to get along with Sakurai while they work. Thus, he turns around without acknowledging Sakurai any further and makes his way off the airplane, vaguely catching Sakurai’s apologetic refusal to the stewardess who offers to help him with his luggage.

The air is hot and thick on the bridge, and Jun scrunches his nose. Compared to his home in Japan, the air here is stuffy and sour. It is a good thing that they are only here temporarily, before heading to the next city. Jun is sure he would not be able to stand more than a few days in this area when even the sight from above is muddled with smog.

Inside the airport, Jun feels a little better. There are many people here, but not enough for Jun to feel cramped, possibly thanks to the early hours, and the space is white and wide, clean, which briefly makes him forget the thick yellowish feel from outside the windows.

Jun avoids looking out as he walks down the white halls towards baggage claim, in his quiet mind going over the plans for today and tomorrow, how everything needs to be laid out and ticked off his list periodically in the right order and to perfection.

Not until he stands in front of baggage claim number 54, waiting impatiently due to a delay from the plane crew, does Sakurai step into his peripheral view, several metres away. And as soon as it happens, Jun knows that Sakurai is keeping an eye on him, just like he is very much aware of Sakurai. They are not talking, are not even looking at each other, and yet, they are both analysing the other, now that the opportunity is given, trying to learn as much as possible without words and without giving anything away.

Jun quickly realises that Sakurai is too good for Jun to learn much like this.

Sakurai carries himself with confidence, he has manners and shows respect to the people around him, even steps in to help an elderly couple pull out a baggage trolley, all with a gentle smile. Despite the many hours in the air, his shirt is crisp, his hair casually swept over his brow and his posture reveals no signs of fatigue.  
But all of it, the seemingly perfect exterior and prim appearance, disguises darkness.

Exactly like Jun, he is more than his proper exterior. Because, should someone peek at Sakurai’s file, the kind gestures and charming smile hide a heart of ice. The way he manages to disguise this only makes Jun feel all the more competitive, and he does not hold back the smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, not even when Sakurai catches his eye over the shoulder of the elder woman who seems to be praising his appearance.

Maybe this challenge will not be so boring after all.  
  
*  
  
With a deep sigh, Jun slings his heavy bag onto his bed, ruffling his messy hair and damn, how he looks forward to a bath. If not anything, then to get his black locks under control.

A hand gets shoved into his face.

“We finally have the opportunity for proper greetings,” he hears Sakurai say before Jun turns to look at him, “Sakurai Sho.”

Jun raises a sceptical eyebrow, “Yes, I know.”

But he decides not to push it when Sakurai’s eyes narrow, firmly grasping the man’s hand in his, “Matsumoto Jun. Let us finish this job as soon as possible. None of us wants to drag this out longer than necessary.”

And there is ire in Sakurai’s eyes at Jun’s disrespect, but Jun does not care. Jun is not used to working together with others, and he does not want to be. So, Sakurai can take his prim manners and show them off to someone else, because they do not impress Jun.

While Jun turns to rummage through his suitcase for a clean set of clothes, he listens to Sakurai’s quiet footsteps moving over to the other bed, possibly to do the same thing.

“I call first dips on the shower.” Jun says as he sneaks past Sakurai, too fast for the older man to react before it is too late.

“Wait- What, hey!” But Sakurai’s knocking on the bathroom door is futile, Jun will not emerge until he finishes, and considering his playfulness and desire to rile up his partner, he plans to take a while.

To Sakurai’s credit, he ceases the banging on the door rather quickly, resigning to his fate so easily that Jun wonders whether he even wanted to shower to begin with. When Jun realises how that thought annoys him, he clicks his tongue and steps out of his clothes, quickly – but neatly – lining up bottles of shampoos and facial treatments from his bag. With all that he owns of various products, he easily takes up all the shelve-space in the small bathroom. The detail does not fail to make him grin.

What are you gonna do about it, Sakurai, he thinks, wondering whether a thing like this will annoy a man like him. Will Sakurai take up the challenge and risk a fight or will he simply not care?

If he is being honest with himself, Jun really does suspect Sakurai to be the exact opposite of him on this matter. Jun would not be surprised if Sakurai only brings a toothbrush and a bottle of all-in-one-shampoo-and-body-soap in his small suitcase. Sakurai is probably that simple-minded.

Deciding he has thought enough about his partner, Jun empties his head for just this moment, allowing himself a small break before the job will suck up all of both his and Sakurai’s time and energy.

Jun wants to be ready for the rush once it hits.

 

Jun takes his time underneath the hot spray of the big shower, letting it soothe his tired, stiff muscles while the heat crawls under his skin, leaving it tingling when he finally steps out. The mirror is covered in mist, disabling him from seeing his own reflection, but he grins nevertheless, wrapping only a towel around his middle before he opens the door to waddle into the big bedroom.

Sakurai is seated on the chair by their rather small table, which is currently covered in papers and papers and more papers. His bedside lamp and the small one by the table cast a sleepy, yellow light over the room. The man is spinning a black pen elegantly between the fingers of his right hand, the other supporting his head, elbow carrying the weight as he studies whatever it is he has laid out before him. He does not raise his head as Jun walks by.

Jun suspects he does not notice. That is, until Sakurai speaks to him.

“First clue and target is scheduled to host a party at 10 tonight. We need her information in order to proceed to the next step.” His voice is calm and business-like. Professional.

“I can easily seduce her.” Jun answers after a couple of minutes, letting Sakurai wait while he puts on a crisp, white shirt and his black slacks. Jun tightens his belt, “Should not be too difficult to get info out of her after she has had a few drinks.”

“Good. I will take the necessary measures to make sure she does not wake up tomorrow.”

Sakurai does not even turn around. Does not move. But his tone, or the lack of it, makes Jun straighten up. He watches Sakurai’s back as the man leans forward to look at another paper, momentarily letting the pen rest motionlessly in his hand.

“Won’t it be better if I give her the poison? I am around her.”

“We do not want people to suspect you.”

Jun narrows his eyes, “They won’t.”

“I am not willing to take that risk.”

Annoyance is once again rising in Jun. Why does this guy pretend he knows better than Jun?

“Listen, Sakurai-,” he takes a step forward, ready to grip the man’s shoulder and turn him around.

But Sakurai stops him with a raised hand, “I do not doubt your abilities, Matsumoto-kun,” it is the first time he has addressed Jun by name, “Or rather, I do not doubt the company’s judgement, but I would like to assess things for myself before I take any risks.”

He finally turns to face Jun, standing up as he does so, and his brown eyes are dark,

“You of all people should be able to understand. It is not only about the kill.”

At this, Jun has to take a deep breath. Clearly, Sakurai does not know how much of a perfectionist Jun is. Judging from his senior’s behaviour, he too wants plans to be thoroughly calculated, every detail well thought through. Jun understands, but he has always had an urge to be spontaneous too, a trait Sakurai most likely does not possess – rather, Sakurai wants to plan _everything_.

“And how,” Jun starts, feeling like he is the rational one, “am I supposed to show you my abilities if you do not let me? This is not a solo mission, Sakurai. Despite how you and I both wish it was. We need to cooperate. And that means you must believe I can do my job as well as you can do yours. I was assigned to this mission too after all.”

Where Jun probably expected Sakurai to start arguing and show off more of a temper, the man remains calm in front of him, only crossing his arms, his stare judging the look Jun has in his eyes.

“I do not like you, Sakurai.” Jun continues then, and finally gets a reaction when Sakurai’s eyes widen slightly, lips parting, “But this job requires me to trust you. I would never trust you with my life, but I will trust you with our target’s. So, you must do the same.”

Honestly, Jun is rather impressed with himself. To calmly explain it like this to Sakurai, that must get him _somewhere_. If it does not work on the man, Jun has no idea what will. And whether this mission will even be a success if Sakurai remains as stubborn and prideful as he is now.

There would be no reason for Jun to join him, if Sakurai could do it all by himself, and they both know it. Jun can see it in the way Sakurai’s mouth draws into a thin line and he drops his arms.

“Fine. You win Matsumoto. But I swear, if you fuck this up-,”

Jun rolls his eyes, “I will make you _eat_ your words, old man.”

And he almost does not believe his eyes when Sakurai’s mouth quirks into a crooked smile.

“Why go right ahead and try, junior.”

Jun’s heart jumps. Oh, he will.  
  
*  
  
He smoothly makes his way through the crowd, assessing his surroundings, nodding at the men, smiling at the women, walking with confidence and only pauses to grab a flute of champagne on his way, and he does it all with all the grace he can muster, moves practiced and incorporated for people to perceive him as an actual Chinese aristocrat and not the fiery killer that he is.

Well, the masquerade only lasts so long. Before the night is over, the party will set the stage for a horrible tragedy.

 *

The scream of tires across asphalt and the growl of an engine with enough horsepower to impress Jun, does not startle him as he skips down the stars, stuffing the wig and the recently removed contact lenses into his pockets.

Sakurai is certainly trying to make a point as he stops the elegant Aston Martin sports-car just in front of Jun when he reaches the pavement. The black car is snarling deliciously when Sakurai opens the door for Jun to climb in.

Jun runs a hand over his scalp – heated from his activity with the hostess – as soon as he is inside, throwing the wig to the floor and fishing out his glasses from his inside pocket.

“You are late.”

“By 1 minute and 23 seconds, Sakurai, relax. Job is taken care of.”

Jun reaches for his seatbelt as Sakurai steps on the gas and smoothly manoeuvres the car around the drop-off area, and when Jun looks up again, they are on the road, the mansion left behind them.

“There is water and cotton pads in the glove-department,” Sakurai tells him, and Jun hides a smirk in the darkness.

“Let us hope this makeup is not waterproof.”

“If it is, you will just have to wait till we get to our next destination. Which is in exactly-” The other assassin glances at the GPS to his right, “120 kilometres.”

There is no trace of emotion in Sakurai’s words, so why does Jun get the impression that he is smug?

Without indulging Sakurai with an answer, Jun just reaches for the handle in front of him, quickly finding two bottles of water and a package of cotton. He empties the first bottle to clench his thirst, before he moves on to remove the subtle makeup from his face, makeup which turned him into a different person for the night; more refined, his features softer, his eyes smaller.

Back there, he needed to stand out as a Chinese high born, and that craved a bit of magic. They are lucky no one saw through it.

Jun is more than happy to get all this icky stuff off his face.

“I won’t stop if you need to take a piss.” Sakurai dead-pans.

Jun rolls his eyes, “Then I will not be responsible for an accident in your car, Sakurai.”

Sakurai chuckles, which makes Jun turn his head and raise an eyebrow in surprise. Did his senses deceive him, or is Sakurai in an unusually good mood?

“This car is rented.”

Raising his eyes to the heavens again, Jun turns his attention back to removing his makeup, by help of the vanity mirror, relieved when he discovers that the makeup comes off with just a bit of willpower. Jun will probably be a bit red around his eyes afterwards, but the darkness in the car hides it well enough, he reasons, and knows that he can look forward to a nice shower and a comfortable bed in their next hotel in Tianjin.

The soft beds, the sports-car and Jun’s suit are all funded by the association. For this reason, and the fact that Sakurai proved in Beijing that he is capable of reserving a great room at a very nice hotel, Jun is pretty sure the next destination will be kind to him too. As he relaxes into the seat, tilting his head back and closing his eyes to rest, he starts looking forward to a big glass of gin and fresh sashimi while watching a sparkling city from wide windows.

He does not get to dream for long.

“Hey, don’t dose off. You better spill the beans Matsumoto. Tell me what you found out.”

Jun wants to strangle his partner, preferably before killing him off with his dullest knife. The only reason why he does not, is because Sakurai deserves the information; Jun owes him for the trust Sakurai placed in him back there.

The man took a risk, believing in Jun. Despite his initial reluctance, Sakurai actually let Jun do it all by himself, with Sakurai’s voice occasionally whispering in his ear through an ear-piece of course. And the assassin also did come and pick Jun up afterwards, all like a good parent or partner, depending on the point of view. Even went and got Jun something to remove his disguise with.

So Jun tells him.

“The woman is – or well, _was_ – a cousin of one of the members of the State Council and mistress of a man of quite a high position in the NPC. She did not give me any names, but when I searched through her possessions after making sure she would not object-” Sakurai smirks in the corner of Jun’s vision, “- I found an address.”

Jun reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket, to fish out a small piece of paper upon which he quickly scribbled down a few Chinese characters and numbers, “It seems to be in the filthily rich area of the city.”

What Sakurai says next startles Jun,

“Good job.”

And he cannot help but turn to face the other man, hand meekly holding onto the small piece of information, mid-air.

“We should contact Ninomiya as soon as we make it to Tianjin. I am sure he can easily find out exactly who owns the address. If we are lucky, that is where our next target can be found.” Sakurai suggests.

Sakurai is a quick thinker. Seeing the look in his eyes, Jun does not doubt he has already planned the next possible sequences of moves. Jun thinks back to the image of papers scattered all over the coffee table in the hotel room in Beijing; Sakurai bent over them, eyes scanning through information meticulously, even as he kept a conversation going with Jun.

So this time, Jun lets his partner decide their next step without question.

Despite how little he looks forward to that future phone call.

*

Ninomiya Kazunari, the association’s intel guy, is one of the most intelligent people on the team and additionally the most annoying.

Jun throws a glance back at Sakurai, turning around quickly when the man moves to lift off his shirt to change to his nightwear.

Ok, maybe Ninomiya is only the second most annoying assassin, Jun knows.

“Hello J, what a rare surprise to see your name on my display~” said man’s cheeky voice sounds on the line.

“Cut the crap Ninomiya, I need a favour.”

“Aww, you are really skipping the pleasantries? Despite how long it’s been since you actually called me. I am hurt.”

“No you are not.” Jun snaps, his eyes flitting to the white plastic bags on the bedside table.

He needs to get this conversation over with so he can finally get the sushi he went through so much trouble to get. Since Sakurai made it quite clear that he had no intention of picking up the food for Jun, Jun had to go and get it himself. What a considerate partner really. Particularly considering this amazing phone call he also made Jun make. The one he currently wants to cut off.

“How do you kn-”

“We need information on an address,” Jun successfully manages to cut Ninomiya off before this conversation spirals out of hand.

Honestly, Jun does not blame the guy for being bored and craving social interaction. Ninomiya spends almost all of his time in front of his screens, playing games when he is not searching for information or connecting vital pieces of intel, usually not emerging from his den unless someone has forgotten to bring him food. Ninomiya really is a strange guy, someone who would probably never admit it if he was feeling lonely.

Quite the opposite of Jun who would do something about it.

“I got the information from a mistress of a NPC member. I need to know if the address has any use to me.”

“Us.”

Sakurai’s annoyed growl of a comment makes Jun turn to him, eyebrow raised.

“ _Us._ ” He repeats, making Jun roll his eyes, ignoring the fact that Sakurai is only wearing a pair of ugly grey sweats, no shirt.

“Is that Sho-chan?” Ninomiya suddenly pipes up, and Jun wants to hit the both of them, “I haven’t spoken to him in ages, he has been so busy. Hey, say hi to him from me, will you?”

“Can we please get onto the matter at hand?”

A few seconds of silence on the other end briefly makes Jun worry that he has offended his colleague. But then he picks up the sound of fingers on a keyboard, and Jun automatically looks at the address again.

“Fine, fine, have it your way, J. Always so bossy.” Nino clicks his tongue, “I will get the information you need. But on one condition.”

“What now?”

“I want to speak with Sho-yan afterwards.”

The stupid nickname nearly makes Jun snort. He covers his mouth with his hand, relieved that his back is turned to his partner. Who knew the infamous Sakurai Sho was being addressed so cutely by someone like Ninomiya. Nearly everyone in the association would never dare call Sakurai such a thing. But then again, Ninomiya is probably the last person to ever be intimidated by anything or anyone.

“Fine, you fools can speak to each other after you give me the information.”

“Deal! Give me the info, and I will call you back in a minute.”

Ninomiya hangs up immediately after Jun gives him the address, and Jun can turn to face his partner.

“Seriously?”

Sakurai answers Jun’s question with a raised eyebrow, which only annoys Jun further,

“It seems like you and Ninomiya-san are pretty good pals. Tell me again why I was the one who had to call him?”

What happens next leaves Jun momentarily stunned.

Sakurai grins. He actually grins. At Jun’s expense. Jun wants to hit him. And he probably would have, had Sakurai not held up a hand at that moment, face falling back to a controlled, calm expression. Sakurai probably sensed how much this could have threatened their – non-existent – cooperation,

“You are the one who got the information from the woman, aren’t you? Besides, Nino said so himself. He hasn’t heard from you in forever.”

Jun groans loudly. Is this guy serious? How come he thinks he can interpret and judge Ninomiya and Jun’s relationship like that? Sakurai makes it sound as if Jun and Ninomiya are friends.

“You conspired against me.”

“There is no such thing.” Sakurai smirks.

And Jun shakes his head. Is this how it will be until they finish this mission? One provoking the other, withholding information? But then again, no one demands either of them share their personal information. And really, why would Jun even be curious about this boring and cold guy?

Sakurai continues, “I did not speak with him before you did. But you wanted to handle this one. So I let you handle it.” The man gestures towards the phone, and Jun clicks his tongue.

Which is all he can do. Sakurai got him there.

“Fine.” He says, between clenched teeth, and just then the phone vibrates in his hand, “But he demanded to speak with you afterwards, so you are not getting out of this little social interaction Sakurai.”

His partner chuckles. And Jun realises this is a battle lost.


	2. Chapter 2

The ease with which Sakurai handles Ninomiya leaves Jun shocked. Shocked, because he never thought he would hear Sakurai speak with such a soft voice, nor hear him laugh or make jokes.

Yeah, Jun is shocked alright, shocked and intrigued, as he leans against the wall, watching the shining city below, while Sakurai’s deep voice fills the room. He prevents the curtain from blocking the view as he holds it away from the window with his right hand.

The dim lightning in this room makes the view below even more stunning; small sparks of light in various colours popping out in the darkness, painting the city of Tianjin in something akin to starlight, during the sleepy hours when everyone should be sound asleep. Everyone but those of Jun’s profession. But Jun has always liked his job. It enables him to afford a luxury, other jobs never would have allowed him to even have a small taste of. Giving up sleep in return is a small price to pay for a life as thrilling as this.

There is no doubt that Sakurai and Ninomiya are long-time friends, and when his partner hands Jun his phone back, Jun is not fast enough to catch himself, and before he knows it, he has given Sakurai a small smile.

“You two get along well.” He states.

And Sakurai freezes momentarily, his round eyes getting slightly rounder. It only lasts a second, before he regains his composure and puts his hands into the pockets of his sweats. He makes his way to the small fridge in a casual stroll as he answers,

“Nino and I go way back,” and that is all that Jun gets, and in reality, it is nothing more than what he could have guessed himself.

Sakurai opens a can of beer and places another one in front of Jun on their shared table, and Jun just follows him with observant eyes, while Sakurai opens one plastic bag after another, fishing out two servings of sushi, one plate of sashimi and one small bowl of char-grilled abalone. The latter is probably as cold as Jun’s anago by now.

“I am sorry, the food has probably turned cold by now.”

Jun’s eyes widen, hand stopping mid-air while he is reaching for a pair of chopsticks. He wears his emotions on his sleeve, and this time, he is too surprised to stop himself:

“Excuse me?”

The assassin opposite Jun shows no signs of being distressed or feeling guilty, but Jun does catch the way he suddenly straightens his back in his chair.

“It is my fault you had to wait. You must be hungry,” with those words, he pushes Jun’s order towards him, and that is that.

Eating is done in silence, and afterwards, Sakurai returns to his usual calm and professional self, using their newly given information to make plans and read the same information he has on his papers again and again and again, refusing to share anything with Jun just yet. And at the end, Jun announces that it is late, and that he will go to bed. It must be way after 4 am.

It is even later, when Sakurai crawls into the bed beside Jun’s, and Jun does not notice, having succumbed to sleep hours before. Jun only knows that Sakurai went to sleep at some point, because Jun wakes before the other man to see a tangled bundle of limbs and sheets, when he throws a glance in Sakurai’s direction.

Jun stops himself before he lets any kind of thoughts of speculation enter his weakened morning-brain. He needs coffee.

-

_There are clammy hands on his skin. Clammy hands on his bare skin. Moving, caressing – no – touching, exploring. The touches linger long after the hands move away._   
_Over his back, he can feel the hands. Over his shoulders, his side, digging into the dips of his muscles, between his ribs._   
_The hands are touching him from behind. He cannot see. He cannot see anything. He cannot see to whom these hands belong._   
_These filthy hands, touching, exploring, probing, caressing. But he does not want to be caressed. He wants the hands to stop. The hands now sliding down his back. The hands are everywhere. Touching him in intimate places. Not caring that they are marking what is not theirs. Not caring that he is powerless._   
_The hands are warm, but he feels cold. So cold._   
_His body is craving the touch, but in his head, he is screaming, screaming so loudly in protest and nausea that he cannot hear the words of the stranger behind him._   
_And he sinks further into the darkness._

-

The information – including an address – Jun found on the aristocrat belongs to the woman’s lover: The man from the National People’s Congress, and Jun laughed when Nino told him over the phone last night. It is almost too easy, the next target handed on a silver platter like that. Operating like Jun and the rest of the organisation are, investigating and spying on people in such high places – people who should be surrounded by security – it is honestly surprising how simple it is. Perhaps it depends on the people doing the investigation and tracking, and Jun is just that lucky, although Jun has to admit that many of his previous jobs have not been this easy.

Not that anything is decided yet. They are still far from finished.

Though Sakurai and Jun are not after this particular man in the NPC, but someone else, getting him out of the way after squeezing him till he is dry for information, will prove to be more than beneficial for their main mission.

For quite a few years now, this has been Jun’s way of work. He no longer just disposes of people, but collects most of the necessary information and makes plans well ahead of the kill. Which is why he is so valued by the firm. He is efficient.

Well, this time is it just a little different.

He automatically turns his head when there is movement in the corner of his eye, just to get an eyeful of a very sleepy-looking man, in nothing but his black boxers and with the usually neatly-styled undercut and bangs standing wildly in all possible directions. Jun takes another sip of his coffee, staring without the slightest hint of interest,

“When did you finish last night?” he asks.

He swallows more coffee as Sakurai stretches, his arms far behind his head and a huge, an unattractive yawn on his face. Jun can count his ribs and trace the way muscles move over bone. If he wants to.

“I am not sure.”

Jun rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to his phone. Ninomiya has sent him additional info on the NPC member as well a wish-list for his upcoming birthday, snuck in between the information on the politician’s body weight and his family information:

  
Today 02:34  
Zheng Chen  
Male  
56 years old  
1.55 m. of height  
Medium-heavy build  
65.3 kg.  
Member of the NPC for 5 years (re-elected this year)  
Nintendo Switch  
Warm, fluffy earmuffs, yellow  
Panasonic flat screen TV  
Clothes (just clothes)  
Newest Mario Cart  
Slippers  
Parents: Deceased, Siblings: Sister, 53 years old, secretary in NPPCC, brother: Deceased in the line of military duty  
  
The list continues on to include the man’s income, what type of car he drives, how long he has been having the aristocrat woman as a lover etc. etc.

Jun is already planning on buying the ugliest pair of purple earmuffs he can find. Preferably with matching socks. Perhaps he can find some here in China after they wrap up work. Finishing his emails, he moves on to the next task at hand. But that is only to distract himself until Sakurai finishes his shower.

Jun needs to know what their moves are going to be today, whether Sakurai himself wants to handle this one or whether they will finally work together. Not that Jun will be the one suggesting such a thing. Although, since Jun was allowed free reins last time, he supposes it is only fair if Sakurai wants to play around by himself this time. Jun supposes that could work. Not much of a partnership, but he does not like Sakurai anyway.

Not being a man who wastes his time, Jun occupies his hands with something else, so that when Sakurai finally emerges, luckily fully clothed in a pair of loose, black slacks and a black V-neck T-shirt, Jun has his ivory 22-250 between his legs, wiping the barrel with a soft cloth. He likes to keep his things orderly, clean and in shape. Always ready.

“Getting jittery?” Sakurai asks, and Jun raises an eyebrow at him.

Sakurai’s eyes drift down to the weapon between Jun’s legs, nodding at it to underline the meaning of his words, and Jun smirks. Grabbing a firmer hold around it, he raises it slowly and aims the muzzle between Sakurai’s dark eyes, head tilting so he can look through the scope.

His partner is not amused, and Jun watches, catches the expanded version of Sakurai as the man puts his hands into the pockets of his trousers and furrows his brow slightly. Sakurai is clearly unimpressed, and Jun’s smile widens. Seconds tick by in heavy silence, Jun just studying all the small contortions of Sakurai’s face, waiting to see when the man will lose his patience, what he will do when that happens.

“What do you want Matsumoto?” Sakurai finally snarls. Given the close-up, Jun can see how his eyes are almost black.

“Just testing for jitters.” And he lowers to weapon, puts it back between his thighs, retaining a provocative, challenging stare, when he looks up at Sakurai through his eyelashes, “Nope, we are good.”

The other man clicks his tongue in annoyance before he shuffles to the kitchen for breakfast. He might be displeased, but Jun feels great now. Even better because he knows that all that is left in the fridge is butter. No more of Sakurai’s –

“Matsumoto! Where is my jam?”

Jun laughs.

-

“We need to work together on this one.” Sakurai tells him between bites of what seems to be quite a boring piece of toast. He surprised Jun with how quickly he went from sulky to utterly calm and professional, now that he has a cup of coffee in hand and his plans spread out in front of him.

Honestly, this morning has been full of surprises for Jun. He did not expect for Sakurai to suggest working together. Not this early into their partnership. Not given how Jun has treated him so far.

Although Sakurai seems professional, Jun did not expect him to give in this easily. Of course, there is still room for Sakurai to surprise him, since Jun has not witnessed him in action yet. Aside from his talent behind the wheel of a car. But with all the provocations Jun has thrown Sakurai’s way, Jun honestly expected Sakurai to snap. And Jun cannot quite figure out if it makes him bored, that Sakurai has not shown much of a reaction yet, or if it actually fills Jun with anticipation. Jun would probably need some kind of carrot for the latter to be the case. And why is it even important anyway?

Maybe Jun is being unfair, but up until this point, it has always just been him and his brain, his abilities. He has never had to rely on someone else, and deep down, he knows that is the reason for his trust issues. That being said, there is something about Sakurai which leaves Jun more sceptical than usual, an aura around the man that he cannot quite figure out – he is definitely not showing Jun all that he is, and that is both disturbing and incredibly intriguing.

Jun ends up humming, not quite in agreement, but not in objection either. Crossing his arms, he leans back in the chair, simply staring at Sakurai until he continues.

“According to the information we got from Nino, our guy will be at home, in his villa here in Tianjin, about 20 minutes by car from here, from around 9 pm. tonight,” Sakurai explains, pointing to some scribbles on paper he marked out last night as well as the map beside them, “He will most likely be drunk, as the NPC members regularly meet on Friday’s such as today, to discuss meetings for the upcoming week. And – naturally – they will go out for a few drinks together afterwards. Usually, Chen-san will be expecting his mistress to show up in his house, but unfortunately-” Jun is surprised when Sakurai raises his eyes to meet his. A smirk is playing outrageously on Sakurai’s lips, “She will not respond to his calls. Instead, you will.”

“ _I_ will?” Jun raises a sceptical eyebrow, forces himself not to react to the smug expression on Sakurai’s face. This is the first time he has witnessed Sakurai make a face like that, and he wonders what it means.

“I want you to knock him unconscious. And then, I want him to be brought to the location where we are staying,”

Jun narrows his eyes. Sakurai has certainly been busy.

“I rented a room downtown,” Sakurai points to a spot on the map, “And although I know you will not approve of the living conditions, we will only be using the basement, and we will be gone without a trace before the sun rises.”

Very busy.

A shudder runs down Jun’s spine at the word basement, at the thought of bringing the NPC member to what is most likely a dark, dirty neighbourhood, to get him to talk, by doing things Jun has no trouble imagining. The file on Sakurai Sho did not mention anything about specialities in getting people to talk. But – Jun figures – as long as Sakurai does not force Jun to join him, he can do whatever he wants with this Zheng Chen.

“I need your help in getting him out of that mansion.”

“Of course,” if Sakurai is surprised at Jun’s lack of questions, he does not show it, “Tell me how much time you need in there, and I will step in as soon as he is unconscious.”

“You can time that?”

“Of course, if you are accurate and on point in your actions.”

The man’s words have the desired effect as Jun clenches his teeth at the challenge. Sakurai has seen right through him. He already knows so much about Jun, and Jun wonders if he has read all these things from Jun’s file? While Jun has a suspicion to the areas in which Sakurai’s special talents lie, the man seems to have quickly figured out that Jun is a master of disguises and of stealth. Perhaps his perfectionism is what makes way for these talents. In how he will never forgive himself if he flunks a mission, if he gets noticed, if he misses a shot.

But now is not the time for Jun to speculate on how much Sakurai knows about him, on how much he _wants_ Sakurai to know about him. Information about one another is important in a partnership, but there are certain crucial things which Jun does not want anyone to know. Ever.

He leans forward now, resting his elbows on the table and follows Sakurai’s gaze down to his many papers. Not that he can find his way around all these notes.

“I need information on the security there,” he requests, sees the movement out of the corner of his eye when Sakurai nods, “The number of security cameras, the number of guards, where said guards are placed. I need to know where they walk, where they stop and turn around, and I need to know the angle of the cameras, their blind spots. And-” Jun feels himself getting excited. This is most likely the most dangerous abduction he has ever done, and he cannot wait for the challenge, “I need a layout of the house as well as the number of staff and various details, such as thickness of the walls and where it would be most convenient for me to knock him unconscious.”

Sakurai opens his mouth, but Jun stops him with a raised hand,

“Lastly, I would suggest we use Sevoflurane, or Desflurane, to knock him out. Less messy and will not result in unnecessary vomiting.”

Racking his brain for something he should have forgotten to mention, Jun almost fails to catch the spark in Sakurai’s eyes and his satisfied grin. Because it is quickly gone again when Sakurai reaches for his coffee.

“As expected of Matsumoto Jun,” he just comments, and Jun cannot quite figure out if this is an attempt at a compliment, “I will reach out to a couple of my acquaintances, make a few calls. And it should not be hard for me to acquire the necessary amount of the drug you requested.”

The plan finally starts to take form in Jun’s mind, and he continues from Sakurai’s train of thought: “I want to take a look at the mansion from the outside before we go there tonight, and I want to avoid using the car you rented as I go today – since they may then recognize it later. I do not want to take unnecessary risks. While I am there, I should be able to do some extra digging, some interesting details might surface.”

On their way here, Jun noticed a small, dodgy-looking place renting out cars and motorbikes, and he plans to go there as soon as they wrap up here. Even if he needs to dispose of the bike later, a place such as the one he has in mind will not go searching for it for too long. Since most of the vehicles are probably stolen goods already.

Sakurai starts to collect all the papers, that light in his brown eyes still very strong, “Seems like we have got a busy day ahead of us. If everything goes accordingly, you are buying me breakfast on our way out of this  
city tomorrow morning after we finish.”

Jun shoots his partner a mean look, which gets completely ignored.

*

The machine purrs between his legs when he turns off the engine a few hundred metres from the big mansion, hidden half-heartedly behind a tree across the street. Not that he can actually see much of the mansion at all, and it is only his faith in Nino which makes him assume it even is a _mansion_ , and not a hut made of mud. The place is surrounded by high walls raised in the colour of sand, clean and spotless, protecting the house and its residents from prying eyes and from danger.

Jun smirks behind the binoculars. Well, if danger wants to get in, they need more than walls to stop it. He spots only a few guards standing around the iron gates, knowing there will probably be ten to twenty of them in addition, within the premises. Concerning the exact details, he will have to wait for the information from Sakurai before he can plan much of the kidnapping. Same goes for the number of cameras and their view. The last thing Jun and Sakurai would want is for Jun to be caught on camera. That would cause a lot of unnecessary… trouble. It would mainly turn the amount of casualties for this mission a lot higher.

The optimal outcome would be for Jun to sneak in, unnoticed, catch Chen off guard and knock him out before the man can make even the tiniest noise, for Sakurai to then come sauntering in the second Chen sags against Jun’s hold, and for the two of them to leave in the shadows, leave as if they never were there to begin with.

And Chen will begin the worst night of his life. He can hide behind his tall walls, he can hide behind his guards and his cameras, his reputation, his money and his status, but there is no stopping what will happen tonight.

There is no stopping danger when fate is already decided.

*

The shadows engulf him and welcome him as their own, swallow him and let him move between their stretching tendrils to hide and to prowl towards his target.

He makes no sound as he presses his body against the dark, warm walls one second, only to crouch down and sprint, on lithe and soundless footsteps across a corridor. His senses are on spikes; he listens for the tiniest sound, is aware of even the smallest movements in the corners of his eyes, of the faintest smell of cologne or of danger. As soon as he hears the faint voice of the man he is after, his eyes narrow, and he readies himself.

The target is on the phone, asking for his mistress, asking for reasons and asking for alternatives.

In the blink of an eye, Jun is behind him. And in the eerie silence of the darkness in which they are swallowed – the power shut off from behind the scenes by Jun’s partner – there is nowhere for Chen to run. The overwhelming adrenaline in Jun’s veins makes it possible for Jun to forget breathing for a minute, for two, until he is close enough to reach out in the dark, to become one with the shadows and strike.

There is no sound at all but a deep, surrendering sigh as the heavy man sinks into Jun’s awaiting arms.

*

Adrenaline is plugging his ears, shadows are clouding his vision and the smell of sweat and alcohol is making him scrunch up his nose in disgust. His muscles are screaming under the weight they are carrying, but there will be no relief until Jun and his partner reach the car.

Jun tries not to stare at the limp mass of human he is currently carrying half of the weight of, but it is difficult. If this was not for a mission, if he and his partner had not agreed that this is absolutely necessary, he would never have wanted to get even remotely close to such a creature.  
An abomination like this definitely deserves to be taken out where he is not in control, out where he can no longer swim. Looking at his round cheeks, the pearls of sweat on his brow, his fat, swollen lips and feeling the heat from his skin through his shirt, Jun wants to gag.

This man is the living image of the wealthy, the high-class, the ones who feed upon others who have nothing. He deserves fate catching up on him, he deserves whatever it is Sakurai has in store for him. For the first time, Jun actually takes pleasure in the thought that his partner will take care of things. Once this man reaches his destination, Jun swears he will not ever touch his disgusting skin again.

Jun raises his eyes finally, looking at Sakurai who is carrying the man’s legs, watches how he pants soundlessly to stay silent despite the burden which is heavy for the both of them. Nino was definitely wrong about this man’s weight. Data outdated for sure.

Jun makes a mental note to remember to tell the informant. And then briefly wonders if Nino would leave out details or mess up data on purpose. Deciding that even Ninomiya is too professional for that, Jun discards the thought.

They hurry as much as they can through the darkness, staying close to the walls despite how Sakurai seemingly effortlessly messed up the cameras, so no one will see anything even if they pass right by the all-seeing-lenses.

Although he tried to convince Jun to begin with just to trust him, Jun eventually managed to get Sakurai to tell him how he worked the cameras. How he got help from Nino in inflicting the video program with a virus which made the camera freeze in the current frame, to not record anything beyond that point. The frozen screen is an important detail as it will not warn the security staff watching the cameras – if such a man should exist somewhere, most likely far from the mansion, sitting in a leather-chair, eating dumplings – of the camera having been tampered with or reprogrammed. Jun figured this is just the sort of thing which will get Ninomiya all hyped up.

Though Jun does not like how Sakurai seems to draw more and more people into this mission, he must admit that cooperation has saved them a lot of time and a lot of trouble. Not that he would ever tell Sakurai that.

Jun allows himself to heave a deep breath when they finally get the unconscious man into the backseat of the BMW, closing the door behind him after which they both immediately rush into their own seats. They are quiet, the air is tense, most likely due to the adrenaline in their bodies, their pumping hearts, right before the thrill of excitement when they succeed. Before they can let the satisfaction sink into their bones, however, they need to make sure that they are safe.

“We are changing cars in four and a half minutes, so get ready to move fast.”

Sakurai’s voice is unusually dark. It has dropped at least a couple of octaves, but aside from that, the man is as calm and collected as always. Not that he cannot still be in a complete daze just like Jun, functioning after a well-thought out script, like Jun is masking his features to hide the possible, rising panic.

Despite how many years he has been doing this, Jun cannot deny the tinge of fear mixed with the exhilaration. There is always a risk. And he catches himself staring at Sakurai, wondering, intrigued, what the older man is thinking. He has been in this business for longer than Jun, possibly a lot longer – what number is he? – so does he still feel fear? Or is this air of calm real, a sign of how cold years of killing has made him?

After Jun knocked out Zhen Chen, Sakurai appeared exactly as he said he would, barely a second after Chen fell unconscious, so Jun barely felt the overwhelming weight of him before Sakurai was there to help with half of his weight. Looking back at it, Jun is impressed. And a little freaked out.

That feeling only increases when, just as Sakurai planned it, they stop after exactly four and a half minutes, driving into an alley where the BMW pulls up beside the Aston Martin, they have been using so far.

Sakurai barks a short, quiet order that Jun did not necessarily need to hear in order to know what to do. Together, they hoist the heavy man out and into the other car, going on automatics, their moves synchronized in the almost complete darkness where they communicate only by eye-contact.

Stealth and calm is key.

Once the man is in, they move in succession again, slamming the doors at the same time, not worrying about leaving any traces in the BMW.

Jun raises his hand and flexes his gloved fingers, “You planned this very thoroughly.”

In the corner of his eye, Jun can see a small smirk flashing over Sakurai’s face, just as a streetlight illuminates him briefly, only to leave him in the darkness again, leaving Jun to guess his expression, what he is feeling right now.

He does not offer Jun a verbal answer.

*

Jun is going crazy. The screams have been continuing nonstop for three hours now. And, however muffled they are, they seem to have taken permanent residence inside his ears, echoing continuously across his eardrums. He takes a big swig of the bottle of whiskey that Sakurai left for him.

Three hours prior, when his partner put it down in front of him, Jun gave him nothing but a roll of his eyes as thanks for the gesture. Jun has never been a whiskey guy. But three hours ago, he would never think to imagine how Sakurai would go on for this long, that the screams would affect Jun this much.

And it is not so much the chilling sound of them, or the imagery of what Sakurai is doing to his victim – no, blood and torture and death has never bothered Jun – but the annoying buzz it leaves in Jun’s head during the breaks. It becomes something akin to a mosquitone, and after four hours, Jun just wishes Sakurai would stop. There is only so much cutting and hitting and squeezing that someone can do before the victim dies.

Also, would Chen not have given the answers already?

Unless…

Jun freezes with the bottle halfway to his mouth.

Unless Sakurai really enjoys this and prolongs it for his own pleasure.

Jun throws a glance at the door leading to the basement. It is as moist and half-rotten as the rest of this filthy place, but Sakurai did warn Jun about it, and perhaps the stinky surroundings are also what is getting to Jun, he reasons. An environment such as this needs more than whiskey to be hospitable.

The liquor burns its way down his throat, and Jun closes his eyes, figuring that his sadistic partner still has more than three hours before sunrise.

 

When Sakurai emerges alone from the basement, he looks far from how Jun imagined. There is no blood on his hands, no twitch in fingers and no sweat on his forehead. Though he is clutching a wet towel in his hands, so perhaps this was used to remove all traces of what he has done.

Jun cannot help but raise an eyebrow at the glow from the man as he stops in front of him. There are no eyebags under his eyes, no ashen tone to his skin, no traces of him being shaken nor disturbed. Nothing even close to the traces that Jun has seen in other people who have done exactly the same thing as he suspects that Sakurai has done to Chen. But perhaps Jun was wrong. Perhaps he has been wrong all along, and the screams were because of something else? But that would not make sense.

“You finished?” Jun wanted that to sound way cooler, wanted to appear calm, but his voice comes out slurry and gravely, most likely due to the whiskey and the state he is in – the state that he wishes to hide. He never planned to show Sakurai this side of himself. Maybe he should have tried to sleep. But one look at the table on which he would have had to place his head, and he is sure that he made the right choice.

And the bastard takes notice of Jun’s state of course. He smirks.

“Well, there is hardly any information left in him that he has not already given me. Gee, I even know the amount of heartbreaks this guy has had.” Sakurai grins, clearly in good spirits, and if Jun was not this comfortably slumped in the hard, wooden chair, he would have flinched at how Sakurai looks right now.

Additionally, if he was not this tired in his head, he would probably have been slightly disturbed when connecting Sakurai’s current expression with the twisted acts he just committed. The reaction could always come later though, after Jun gets some proper sleep.

“Fine, let us get out of here then.” Jun grumbles and slowly rises from his chair.

Thank god for the alcohol, because now he actually has to go down to that very basement to grab the guy and carry him UP the stairs.

How wonderful.

If Jun did not hate his partner before, he surely does now. And as Jun supports his weight with a hand on the dirty table top, Sakurai boldly runs his eyes over Jun’s form. A curious chill runs down Jun’s spine. “Alright, if you are that eager to leave.”

If only Jun had faith in his aim right now, he would have punched that smirk off Sakurai’s pretty face.

Said person turns then, to lead the way down to the basement. And as soon as Jun follows, through the door, he starts to quietly sniff the air, trying to prepare himself, should he be about to witness a bloodbath.

People practising torture of course have differing methods, but the ones Jun has knowledge of mostly include at least a little bit of blood and physical pain. So, for that reason, his curiosity grows at each step they take down the slippery stairs, since there is no smell of blood, no quiet groans from someone underneath them in the darkness.

The walls narrowing in around Jun are grey and damp, and Jun keeps his hands close to his body, cannot help but scrunch up his face, his nose itchy due to the wet smell of rot and excrements, from rats and the like of which live down here. Additionally, as they get closer, it becomes evident that Chen has wetted himself. More than once. Jun clenches his teeth in disgust.

The man has slumped forward in the chair, his chin resting on his chest, and only the ropes around his middle are what keeps him from falling to the floor. As Jun’s curiosity gets the best of him, he lets his gaze wander over Chen’s form, to find clues to what Sakurai has done to him.

There is drool on his shirt, from the corner of his mouth, a wide, wet area at the front of his trousers. His hair has clearly been tousled, and a mental image flashes across Jun’s mind; of Sakurai gripping the man’s hair tight, yanking his head backwards before a claw-like hand surges forward to lock around the man’s neck. And for some reason, Jun imagines Sakurai leaning forward to whisper into Chen’s ear, to which Chen’s eyes widen in fear while he gasps and gurgles due to lack of oxygen – oxygen that Sakurai will not give him.

Jun finds himself swallowing, finds himself wondering exactly what Sakurai has done to the man to make him look like this: Defeated even in his unconsciousness. And he cannot stop himself from turning to follow Sakurai with his eyes as he walks straight up to the victim, to poke his cheek once, twice, and then shrugging and moving to untie his restraints.

“Hey, Jun-san, give me a hand here, will you?”

Jun is so confused and intrigued that he does not even take note of Sakurai’s way of addressing him. Instead, he moves as if in a daze, standing beside the form of a man who looks more like a corpse than a man unconscious, ready to grab him as he falls.

“He should be out of it long enough for us to get him into his car. The plan is for him to wake up there and then start his engine to drive back home – or elsewhere, it does not really matter. Cross your fingers that this politician is as dumb as I think he is.”

The reality of this situation makes the fog rise a bit in Jun’s mind, additionally helped along when he has to bend his legs when Chen falls into his arms. _Heavy!_ Luckily, Sakurai is quick to grab the man’s other arm, to help Jun hoist him out of the chair.

Now that Jun knows what Sakurai is clearly capable of, he does not find the need to cross anything for luck. This plan will go exactly as Sakurai has planned it out. Jun no longer doubts him.

*

They sit in silence, staring out the tinted windows of the Aston Martin, watching as the sun rises over a polluted city, the light barely breaking through the smog, while the radio blabbers in Chinese.

Sakurai is chewing on a croissant beside him, and Jun is sulking, despite having his own in his lap. The lack of sleep, and the cheerful way Sakurai is behaving, is throwing him off completely, and is what puts him in this very grumpy state of mind. Even if the coffee in his hand is good. Jun takes a sip, wondering again why they are just _sitting_ here. Why is it important for his partner to listen to the radio anyway? They should be on their way back to Beijing, back to planning. Why is Sakurai just sitting there, chewing too loudly when he should be planning their next move?

Jun scowls, and his partner must have noticed, because he chuckles darkly.

“Hey, why the sulky look, Matsumoto-kun? You don’t like croissants? If you don’t want yours, I don’t mind eating it.”

He probably aimed for a reaction such as the one Jun gives him, but it is too late when Jun turns his head to throw an angry pout at him, which only makes Sakurai laugh.

“We should not be staying here, in the freaking middle of nowhere between cities. We could be well on our way to Beijing by now!” Jun exclaims, letting his frustration be known, “Why are we waiting?”

Nodding, Sakurai takes a calm sip of his coffee, not fazed at all by his partner’s annoyance, “Don’t worry, we will move soon, I just want to hear the ne-” Sakurai does not finish, suddenly reaching forward to turn up the volume of the radio, and his sharp movement causes Jun to flinch, before Jun rolls his eyes.

For a moment, Jun asks himself why he was impressed by Sakurai earlier. The man is no less annoying than he was in the beginning of this partnership.

But then the news program starts, and with the basic Chinese he knows, Jun catches the essence of their head story, resulting in his eyes widening, and him staring incredulously at the man sitting beside him, not even considering trying to hide his surprise.

While Sakurai continues to munch on his croissant, unfazed, coffee cup beside him and a very satisfied calm expression on his face, Jun is sure.

_“Renowned member of the National People’s Congress, Zhen Chen, died this morning, crashing his car into a traffic barrier on the highway. Early reports assume that he was most likely drunk, considering the early hours and the way he drove straight into the barrier. The speed sent his car flying and crashing. He died instantly. 56 years old. More information later as investigation continues.”_

“Wow, he made it all the way to the highway,” Sakurai comments, and cold sweat starts to form on Jun’s nape, “Should have given him a higher dose, I suppose. A minor miscalculation, no big deal.” Perhaps he notices Jun’s staring, because he finally turns his dark eyes to Jun and they shimmer with something akin to excitement, “No reason to look like that Jun-kun, this was just a simple kill. Assassins leave no traces, you know that.”

Sakurai conveniently failed to mention this part of the plan, but there is no doubt that this was part of it all to begin with. Since Sakurai is not the kind of man to make spontaneous decisions.

Jun might be a master of stealth, have perfect aim, but this man is brilliant and cunning. A manipulator.

He is not just deadly. He is dangerous.

Jun has gotten a taste of what lurks behind that calm façade, and right now, there is nothing Jun wants more than to know, to witness, to experience, what else Sakurai is capable of. It seems that Jun must up his game, if he wants to have even a slim chance of keeping up with this guy.

 

*

_There is still darkness. That endless darkness in front of him, around him. Cradling his body in a protective sphere, but he chokes. An alien pressure around his throat; it keeps him from breathing, keeps him from feeling._

_He has long since learned to cut off the sensations, those ripples along his skin, under his skin, from the touch, the ever-searching fingers. Those filthy hands that roam all over him, all over places that do not belong to them._

_If he cannot feel, if he cannot tell what is happening, then he can stand it. He has convinced himself of this, and so, he stares straight ahead, and imagines that he is alone._

_It becomes easier each time. Each time as he sinks deeper, slowly becoming one with the darkness._

_Turning to nothing but a shadow of himself._

*

 

They change the car again on the way to Beijing. Despite Jun eyeing a red sportscar with a longing glance, Sakurai does not even stop to ask and instead chooses a white Mercedes with tinted windows, and obviously does not consult Jun before he makes the deal. But Jun is not going to ask questions about the type of car they drive, and especially not out in the open like this. It is suspicious enough to see two men of their age buying a car together, no suits, no company name behind them.

It seems the owner of the car shop is satisfied enough with trading the Mercedes for their Aston Martin though, his decision helped along by a small bundle of bills that Jun catches Sakurai sneak into the man’s open palm discreetly. Since Jun has long since learned to be aware of everything, bribing would never go unnoticed by him. During Jun’s trips of varying lengths to China, he has learned that the Chinese people with these kinds of slightly dirty jobs are very open and accustomed to bribery, and this guy is clearly no exception as he throws Sakurai a curt nod.

The car seller does not ask any questions either. And in the future, he will not have a chance to. Even if someone asks about Sakurai and Jun, he would not be able to identify Jun, who is wearing a black fedora, hiding his face behind its shade as he lets Sakurai make the deal.

Soon, he finds himself in the passenger’s seat once again, but it no longer annoys him. It seems he has finally gotten used to the thought of being in a partnership. Or at least, he is no longer as opposed to the idea of him being partnered with Sakurai Sho, the expert manipulator and torturer.

They make it to the hotel in Beijing by early evening, having stopped a few times on the way, for Jun to buy a few groceries – mainly because Jun insisted he needed fruit and alcohol – and for Sakurai to enter a shady-looking shop, leaving Jun behind in the car and coming out with a long, square box in his hand, another smaller one on top of it.

Jun recognised the top one as a box of bullets, but the other is a mystery. Still is, when Jun sits down on his hotel bed by the window – curtains drawn – to take off his hat and run a hand through his slicked-back hair, flat from being under the fedora all day, to tousle the half-long locks. He runs a hand over the heavy red silk covers below him, looking forward to a good night’s rest after their _wonderful_ adventure in that basement-apartment. Just thinking about it makes Jun shiver in discomfort.

Deciding that that trauma has to be cured with a shower, wine and good food, Jun moves to get up. Only to be stopped when Sakurai opens the hotel door.

“Matsumoto-kun,” he smiles shortly, and Jun instantly senses that he has got something important to say. The shower will have to wait then, “Seems it is safe to give you all the information now. We need to prepare for the main thing. The target is close, and we do not have much time to prepare.”

Work comes before Jun’s needs, and he gives Sakurai a curt nod and turns around to walk to the small bar in the corner of the room. Taking just a few seconds to decide, he reaches for the bottle of scotch, “You want something?” he asks as he reaches for the glasses.

“I’ll have what you are having.”

Something has definitely changed since their collaboration last night, and in this moment, Jun feels oddly self-conscious. Unsure whether he wants to fall back or stay where he is.

But Sakurai does not show any sign of having noticed any change, does not show any sign of attention on Jun, which makes Jun force away this unwanted awareness over the change in their relationship while he pours the alcohol over ice. It matters not. They just need to complete the main mission, so Jun can return to taking care of his small bonsai in Japan.

He walks back to the table, and Sakurai has laid out two pieces of paper and a pen, as always ready to schedule and mark out every step, every action they should take. Right to the very end, where Sakurai’s writing spells out:

**Target taken out.  
Return to checkpoint and regroup.**

“To briefly summarize the mission again, we are to take out an important military leader, more specifically the elected commander-in-chief of the CMC – seems like someone in the NPC regrets their decision to elect this guy as the man in charge,” Sakurai smirks, “Apparently, he has been making some decisions that the higher-ups do not agree with. As usual, we have no right to question these jobs, only to carry them out.”

Jun takes a sip of his drink, letting the alcohol burn its way down his throat when he levels Sakurai with a cold stare. As if Sakurai has the right to lecture him about anything. Although his partner has been in this business for longer than Jun has, it does not mean that Jun is not aware of the rules. And he should not have to tell Sakurai as such. Thus the cold, unimpressed stare. Are they really back to square one with this?

“As long as I get to enjoy what I do, I won’t ask any questions.” He simply states, after Sakurai has been staring him down in equal measure.

If only they were not both this stubborn, Jun’s life would be so much easier.

So far, Jun has not gotten a taste of Sakurai’s abilities with a gun, and Jun knows he is the best sniper the corporation has. If he is not the one who gets to take this guy down…

Suddenly, Sakurai grins at him, an amused but cynical expression, as if he is sharing this one with Jun, and it sends a chill down Jun’s spine but also causes a slight contraction at his inner thighs,

“Oh, don’t worry, you will definitely enjoy this.” Sakurai promises and the way he says it clarifies a fact Jun just became painfully aware of, but is not ready to face. He pushes the thought away quickly.

Pointing to the map beside his mess of notes, Sakurai continues, “You will hide here, in this building at the 20th floor – the view should be the best from here, but you will also be hidden well between the two buildings in front – from which I am guessing it should be a piece of cake for you to take him out.”

Sakurai is back to being matter-of-factly and Jun nods.

“I will keep an eye out from the ground, making sure everything goes accordingly and that your safety is not jeopardized. I will silence any and every kind of disturbance. Neither one of us is interested in you being detected, hence we need to have secured our escape route, getting out as soon as the target is down. I will make the preparations tomorrow morning after I meet up with my informant.”

Although Sakurai looks pleased when he raises his eyes, Jun chews on the inside of his cheek. Another informant. Another additional player. Which Jun is far from pleased about.

“Your informant?” he simply asks, voice devoid of emotion.

Sakurai narrows his eyes in return.

“Yes, my informant.” When Jun this time feels the annoyance start to well up in him, Sakurai raises a hand – perhaps realising what he is currently doing, “His name is Aiba Masaki, and he has been my informant for 10 years,” Sakurai explains and sends Jun a look, “He is also one of the only people I trust, so if you trust me, you will trust him too. In regard to planning, it is not my impression that I have given you any reason to doubt my judgement.”

That is really stretching it, and if Sakurai thinks this makes Jun more inclined to accept this informant, he is dead wrong. Jun crosses his arms in front of his chest, leaning forward to bring his face closer to Sakurai’s. The action makes his heart beat faster, especially when he catches Sakurai’s eyes quickly flitting to Jun’s mouth.

“I am taking a shower.”

And then Jun rises, sending his coldest scowl in Sakurai’s direction. This is far from an agreement.

*

Whether Sakurai is doing this to win Jun’s favour or not, it is definitely the last thing Jun expects as he steps out of the shower, back in his black sweatpants with a towel around his neck, hair still wet. And he briefly wonders how his partner made time to call and get the people to deliver, during the 20 minutes Jun spent cleaning himself. Which brings him to the conclusion that Sakurai decided to order before their argument. Perhaps that is what he did just after their arrival to the hotel, when he disappeared out the door and was gone for ten minutes.

The amount of steps this guy plans ahead…

Jun’s suspicions rise when he discovers that Sakurai ordered anago sushi for him. If not for bribery, then why?

Jun refuses to sit, staring sceptically at the other man from his side of the table, “What is this?”

Never having seen such a sheepish expression on Sakurai’s face before, Jun wonders if this is a scheme. Is he trying to be cute? It does not suit him.

“Red wine and sushi?” Jun’s partner answers, and Jun catches the lack of cold confidence in Sakurai’s voice. Which is bloody interesting.

“What do you want, Sakurai?” Jun snarls, although he cannot help fixing his gaze on the sushi. He is starving.

“I did forget the eel last time, did I not?”

As if that justifies it.

In the end, Jun’s stomach wins him over. It is not as if he lets Sakurai win just because he has bought wine and sushi for them. And he is also far from charming Jun with the way he starts stuffing his mouth with blood-clam sushi, humming and groaning in what appears to be delight.

Jun hides a small smile behind his wine glass, wondering why he did not notice Sakurai’s love for shellfish before. Perhaps he just did not bother to look.

The wine is heavy and fruity, strong with its amount of alcohol, and Jun convinces himself that Sakurai was just lucky with this one, when he managed to get exactly the type of wine Jun likes. No way he could have predicted or read his way to such information. That is personal and something Jun would not share with anyone.

“Hey, MatsuJun.”

Jun freezes momentarily at the nickname, but decides that there are worse things Sakurai could call him, and the man _did_ buy him dinner after all. He hums. And sets his glass down, licking away the taste of wine on his lips, to catch Sakurai looking at his food.

“Can I have one?”

“No way.”

  
*

“You are introducing me to Aiba-san today.”

In the process of pulling on his dark-grey trench coat, Sakurai freezes, eyes immediately locking on Jun, “You know how risky that is, you and I waltzing around together.”

Jun knew Sakurai would say this, and had he been in his partner’s shoes, he most likely would have reacted the same way. It is dangerous for two assassins to be seen together, especially when visiting an informant. It will put, not only their lives, but this Aiba’s life in jeopardy too. But this is something Jun needs to do, _wants_ to do. He has to see for himself how Sakurai gets his inside information, how he gains his incredible knowledge, and whether he is hiding things from Jun.

This is merely a precaution for Jun, and a wish to be included.

“Of course I know.” Jun juts out his hip, “But I need to see for myself; the people you visit Sakurai.”

Opposite him, Sakurai raises an eyebrow, “I am allowed to see other people, you know, _Macchan_.”

The nickname is affectionate, a mockery and a playfulness from Sakurai’s side that is a first for Jun to experience, but had an awareness of existed. Nevertheless, it throws him off and tickles his annoyance. No one has given him such a nickname before – aside from Nino of course – and with good reason.

“Do not call me that.” He snarls, earning a mischievous smirk in return. Jun runs a hand through his hair. This Sakurai Sho is such a piece of work, “This is a two-man operation, and if you want me to trust you, you have to show me why. Simple as that. I promise I won’t speak during your meeting, unless you are doing something I judge as reckless. I will merely observe.”

While Jun talks, Sakurai finishes putting on his coat, and that smile is still playing on his lips, when Jun is done. For a moment, he says nothing, simply looking at Jun with those unreadable dark eyes.

Jun tries to not let it throw him off balance.

“Fine.” Sakurai finally says, but that is it. He looks far from annoyed and obstinate at Jun’s suggestion. As a matter of fact, he looks rather amused. Is there nothing which can throw this guy off?

With a quiet groan, Jun reaches for his own jacket and follows his unpredictable partner out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

Aiba Masaki is not your typical informant, Jun learns. Most of all because of his hideout. Or, rather, the lack of it.

Sakurai drives them through the centre of Beijing, until they reach the edges of the busiest area. This part of the city is quieter, but not devoid of people, with a school nearby and small cafés and restaurants for people who prefer calm surroundings and less up-scale dishes at ridiculously high prices. From behind the tinted windows of the car, Jun sees parks and playgrounds, families going for a walk with their baby strollers, middle-schoolers on their way home from class with backpacks as big as themselves; small yellow hats in groups of three or four. This is certainly far from some of the areas Jun finds himself in most of the time, in this line of work. When he goes to gather necessary info that Nino does not possess, he finds himself in dark alleys with shady people smoking all kinds of strange stuffs, places where Jun must be alert and on his toes.

Many of the shops here specialise in Chinese wares, and inside one of the many Chinese restaurants is where they find Sakurai’s informant.

“Sho-chan!”

A yell and a blur of a person colliding with Sakurai in what seems to be a hug, startles Jun and makes him take a couple of steps back, considering himself safer with a bit of distance.

“It has been too long, you never come by these days. I thought you’d died!”

When the man finally releases Sakurai – still holding onto his shoulders – Jun can take a look at him, try and assess what kind of character Sakurai and he will be dealing with.

Aiba is a tall, dark-haired man with long, slim limbs and a bright smile, and in front of Jun, this man with smiling eyes is standing with an arm around the shoulders of a person Jun hardly recognizes in this moment. He has come to know Sakurai as a scheming, calculating killer, an unpredictable person who can be cold and cruel, someone Jun has a very hard time getting along with. But the Sakurai he sees now is wearing a sheepish smile, scratching the back of his head as he apologises to a friend for not stopping by more often.

Jun feels like he is a witness to something he perhaps should not have seen. As though someone like Jun –  someone still so sceptical of Sakurai and whether he should trust him or not – does not deserve this view, this insight, yet. He has forced his presence into a place where it should not be. Sakurai is Jun’s partner on paper, but they are still far from being in a partnership.

The situation is completely upside down, and Jun has to remind himself that the three of them – Aiba Masaki included – are not supposed to look this normal. They are criminals. And they are meeting in a civil, populated place, appearing as old friends meeting after too long a while. It is wrong.

But that is perhaps the genius of it.

Who would ever suspect a restaurant owner and two friends stopping by in a family area such as this one? Despite Jun coming along with Sakurai today, he feels in less danger here than elsewhere.

Perhaps that is what civil areas such as this one, make one feel. Trick you into a false sense of security, like the people living here. Because despite the calm, the familiar peace which seems to be surrounding this neighbourhood, there is corruption leaking from within the walls, unseen eyes watching and keeping track of everyone, as they do in the rest of the city.

Throwing at glance at Sakurai who is currently asking Aiba about the welfare of himself and the restaurant, Jun catches himself softening slightly.

This is certainly an interesting and totally unexpected turn of events.

“Perhaps I can show you some of my new furniture in the back room?” Aiba suggests, and Jun perks up.

Only because he knows, does he recognize this innocent signal from Aiba. So far, the man has not appeared to be a particularly intelligent person. But Jun could be wrong.

Sakurai agrees, and they follow Aiba through the restaurant where he nods and smiles to a few patrons along the way, even exclaiming “I haven’t seen my high-school friends in years. Can you believe they are visiting me, in my humble restaurant? I am so happy!” to which Sakurai throws Jun a sheepish smile and shakes his head.

The place smells of spices and spring onions, the homemade food on the tables very appetizing to look at. It is evident, that this is not just a camouflage for the owner, it is a home and a passion. Cooking these dishes and serving them for kind – albeit ignorant – people is an appeal even Jun can understand.

He finds himself having to act along in order not to stand out awkwardly in this charade. Usually, it is not a problem for him, but compared to the ease with which Sakurai and Aiba operate, it must be clear to those who observe, that he is not a close friend like Sakurai is. Hopefully, he will, at worst, look like a friend of Sakurai.

They make it through the small restaurant fairly quickly, with no people showing too much interest, and Jun immediately strides to the corner to lean against the wall as Aiba closes the door behind them, to stay out of Sakurai’s way. Surprisingly, when Aiba walks to the small, low table in the middle of the equally small room, he is beaming at Jun, showing him interest and attention, before his eyes flicker to Sakurai.

“He is handsome Sho-chan.”

Jun catches himself before he lets his mouth fall open and only raises his eyebrows at the honest statement, before controlling his facial features. Seems like this Aiba-guy has no filter, he is bold and unpredictable. Or stupid. He is in the company of two trained assassins after all. Only Sakurai stands in the way if Jun wanted to snap Aiba’s neck in half. Currently, what is stopping Jun is his wish to know what Aiba is insinuating.

Apparently, Sakurai is rather used to it, or just knows how to handle Aiba because he shakes his head, unfazed and chuckles,

“Yes, Aiba-kun, but he is deadly. I would be careful if I were you.”

When the statement makes the informant turn his head back to Jun, still smiling openly, Jun narrows his eyes and scowls. Which only makes Aiba laugh. The sound is breathy and low, and rather infectious, if Jun is being honest with himself.

“Seems like you have got your hands full.” Aiba observes, but this time Sakurai does not laugh.

There is a knowing look in his eyes though, when they meet Jun’s, but when Sakurai gets an even worse scowl than Aiba, he seems to catch the hint.

No games. They are not here to chat and throw assumptions and guesses around. And Jun did most certainly not come along to create social relations.

“Right, back to the reason why I am here Aiba-kun.”

Sakurai’s following explanation, all uttered in a relatively hushed voice, despite the private area, does not seem to have the desired effect, Jun observes. The more Sakurai explains – which is not much really, given their circumstances – the more Aiba’s smile falters, even if Sakurai is most likely aiming for the opposite effect, seeing as he attempts to convince the informant, explain why they need his help on this.

They need info on the amount of bodyguards there will be to protect their target, they need to know how many civilians there will be in the area and where, and whether there are any unexpected building-projects or the like which could get in the way of the two assassins’ escape.

While he talks, Jun observes how Sakurai gets his information, how he speaks and how he gestures to be convincing and sound appealing.

This time, though, it does not seem to have the desired effect.

“Sho-san…” Finally, Aiba raises a hand, albeit hesitantly.

And Sakurai does not try and push it, it seems like he only waited for Aiba to interrupt him, to explain why it is he seems so hesitant. Waiting for that explanation, Sakurai’s eyes turn to look concerned, scrutinizing Aiba’s face, which is starting to turn quite pale.

“Sho-san, I am sorry.” He almost looks like he is about to cry, turning his brown eyes to Jun, “And sorry to Matsumoto-san too, but I cannot help you.”

While Jun did expect him to say something like this, he did not expect Sakurai to seem so stunned at Aiba’s refusal. But if they are as close as Jun has gotten the impression that they are, Sakurai has probably always been able to count on Aiba for help.

So, this situation seems to be a first for them.

“You cannot help?”

Aiba shakes his head, does not look at Sakurai, “I am sorry, Sho-kun.”

When Sakurai narrows his eyes, jaw clenching, Jun breaks in. Only after he starts talking, does he remember that he actually promised to keep his mouth shut. Well, Sakurai is getting nowhere anyway, so negotiations are over, which means Jun is free to speak.

“Aiba-san.” He gets eye contact with the informant when he raises his head, “What is troubling you? Are you in danger?”

Given the description of the man that Sakurai has given Jun, and given the first-hand impression Jun got of Aiba, the present behaviour they are witnessing is unusual. And if Jun’s instincts are right, and they usually are, this is the face and words of a man who is afraid, but is trying to hide it. And so, when Aiba looks like he is about to deny it, Jun just raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms.

If the man is used to being around assassins, he should know that such people take no bullshit, Jun included.

“I…”

While Aiba hesitates, Jun throws a glance at Sakurai, catching his partner looking at him, before Sakurai quickly averts his eyes back to Aiba.

“I think they are onto me.”

After the secret is out, Aiba seems to slump, his posture weakening, and Jun cannot really figure out if this is Aiba’s way of making people take pity on him. He definitely looks miserable.

Sakurai narrows his eyes, instantly straightening to attention and alertness, “Who?”

Aiba licks his lips, “Someone came here yesterday, a customer. And while he did nothing suspicious in particular, he seemed… Out of place, you know? He had an air of someone who was snooping around, he didn’t smile. He left after eating our mapo-tofu and the gyoza, and I have not heard from him, but I have got a bad feeling about it, Sho-kun. What if someone has started suspecting my involvement with your organisation? If it’s the government, my restaurant is in deep trouble.”

_And so are you._ While Jun thinks that perhaps Aiba should consider his life in more trouble than his restaurant, he quickly perceives that it is one and the same thing for Aiba. The restaurant has been with his family for generations, and with everything that he has built here, there is most likely not many other places for him to go, should the government close the place. So, his life is his restaurant.

How cruel to make someone like Aiba an informant for Jun’s line of work. What did they bribe him with, Jun wonders.

“For that reason, I dare not help you this time. I think, it is better if I keep my head down.”

Jun nods, touching his earlobe absentmindedly.

“Aiba-kun, if it is as you say,” Sakurai gets up, placing a hand on Aiba’s shoulder to give him a firm look, “This could be more dangerous than you perceived yesterday. If they are suspecting you, and have been here already, I would be more worried. How come you didn’t tell me about this?”

“You are so busy, Sho-kun. You put your life in danger all the time, you don’t need my problems too.” Aiba’s eyes are wide and apologetic, to which Sakurai smiles, gently, and Jun finds himself transfixed.

How can this person be so many characters?

“We will help you.”

Both of them turn to look at Jun, and Jun gets a little pleasure out of seeing the shocked expression on Sakurai’s face. If he is being honest, Jun surprised himself too. None of them – himself included – probably expected Jun to be the one to offer help. He guesses that that assumption is more than justified, given how Jun usually does everything alone and comes across as rather selfish and narrow-sighted.

If this is what it takes to make Sakurai look surprised though – a rather interesting look on him – Jun will probably consider doing it again, so he saves that information for future reference.

“The only way to stop the people, who has information on you, is to take them out. And luckily for you, we are here, and I am an expert of disguise. I will find the people for you, even if I have to do it alone.” Jun promises, nonchalantly leaning against the wall.

When Sakurai’s eyes widen even more, Jun has to force himself not to smile smugly. He should definitely aim to surprise Sakurai more often.

“Matsumoto-san...” Aiba almost looks like he is close to crying again, this time in relief.

Jun holds up a hand to stop him, “But, nothing is free. If we do this for you, you will agree to help us. You will give Sakurai-san all the information we need, nothing left out.”

This is business after all, and Jun does nothing without getting something in return. And he watches, as Aiba shoots Sakurai a brief look, as if making sure that Sakurai does not object, before taking a step towards Jun, offering his hand.

“Save my restaurant, Matsumoto-san, and I will tell you all that you need to know.”

*

When they leave Aiba’s restaurant with a big bag of divine-smelling food for dinner, Sakurai only just steps in in time before Aiba pulls Jun into a hug, possibly equal to the one he gave Sakurai, who seemed close to being unable to breathe in the slim man’s arms, which was a surprise. Had Aiba made it, it probably would have turned rather ugly, as Jun is not very comfortable with people touching him out of the blue. How Sakurai could have known that, Jun decides not to question – he has enough questions as it is – and so, Jun gets a firm handshake and a tearful smile as a substitute for the bearhug.

-

On their way back to the hotel, the car is silent for the first half of the trip.

Jun is gazing out the window again as they drive through the various areas and districts of Beijing.

Aiba definitely found a small paradise in this city of dirt and steel.

The quiet is broken when Sakurai suddenly laughs in a burst, making Jun blink stupidly and turn in the passenger seat. He almost asks the guy what his problem is, but Sakurai explains himself rather quickly, eyes still filled with mirth.

“You surprise me, MatsuJun.”

“I what?”

“You surprise me.”

Even though Jun throws Sakurai a sceptical look, the other simply glances at him, eyes crinkling in the corners.

“When I think I have finally figured you out, you pull a stunt like the one you did in Aiba-kun’s restaurant, and I question the assumptions I have made about you. You are surprisingly kind, you know.”

Jun is not sure whether he should be offended or happy about the fact that Sakurai has this perception of him. Since Jun has always been sure he wanted to be that cool, hard-to-read kind of guy. But around Sakurai, that task seems increasingly difficult to accomplish. They are assassins, and they are not supposed to be kind. So, he settles for rolling his eyes, looking the other way. Anywhere but at his perceptive partner.

“You must be delusional, Sakurai.” He snaps, “I was simply striking a deal, a means for us to get our job done. Nothing else.”

Beside him, Sakurai chuckles, and Jun clicks his tongue.

“Whatever you say, MatsuJun.”

This banter is getting tiring, Jun decides, throwing a glare out the window, refusing to indulge Sakurai. If Jun ignores him for long enough, will he stop being annoying?

“Did I offend you, MatsuJun?”

Jun has to blink very slowly and very long to rein in an angry retort. All these nicknames and all this teasing, was Jun enough of a prick in the beginning to be deserving of all this?

“Shut up or I will choke you.”

 

*

_He is losing himself, losing himself to the darkness. No longer is it a friend, no longer a protector. It has swallowed him, and he cannot find his way back. With no light, there is only endless black._

_It is dark and he feels nothing._

_Even when he wakes, he feels nothing._

_But then, a blaring red in the darkness, a sharp metallic taste in his mouth, and he is aware of his hands, what they do, can feel skin turning cold underneath his fingertips, and he smiles._

_And he hurts._

_He welcomes the pain._

*

 

The following day is no better between Jun and his partner. It even seems to be getting worse, the more Jun refuses to react and talk back, while they plan their course of action.

The bathroom in this hotel is big and bright and in general a very pleasant place to be, with enough space for both of them to shave or brush their teeth simultaneously, had Jun chosen to get out of bed at the same time as Sakurai this morning. But being such a bad morning person, that was not the case. Not that he would have liked for them to stand side by side each with a toothbrush in hand either, allowing for Sakurai to send him a toothpaste-grin through the mirror.

Sakurai is currently reading the daily paper, understanding the Chinese characters perfectly it seems; Jun can see him in the mirror through the open door if he cares to look. But Jun is otherwise occupied right now, focused on the task of slicking his hair back to perfection, hair gel sticky between his fingers.  He combs through the locks a few times and turns his head left, right, following himself with his eyes, checking to see if it looks good from all angles. Then he reaches for aftershave and cologne as well as his small pouch with necessary makeup.

Although he hates wearing it, he has taught himself to perfect the use of it, to disguise his looks and become someone else. With his black turtle-neck and sunglasses, it should not be a problem for him to fall into the role of a bodyguard. Also, with this, he can look forward to removing it all tonight and relax in the huge spa-tub, which takes up half of the space in this bathroom.

“Why, don’t you look nice,”

Jun rolls his eyes with a click of his tongue. He should have known, given how well-behaved Sakurai has otherwise been for the last hour. Is he really so easily bored that he has to annoy Jun?

While Jun was focused on the task of applying his makeup, Sakurai finished his paper and apparently went to lean on the doorframe, watching Jun for several minutes before the younger man noticed him.

“I am not supposed to look _nice_ , Sakurai-san. I am just supposed to look like someone else.”

Clicking the small, black makeup-case shut, Jun quickly tidies up his workspace, checks himself one last time in the mirror, before he turns around, coming face to face with his partner.

“You look like a real playboy, and isn’t _that_ nice?” Sakurai breathes into his space, a smirk on his lips, and it takes all of Jun’s willpower not to step back instantly on reflex. But he will not give Sakurai that pleasure.

“Well, wrong guess.” Eyes narrowing, he meets Sakurai’s intense dark stare with equal fervour, “I am posing as part of security. It will enable me to move around and find the people who are suspicious of Aiba-san. I should be able to finish the job before dinner.”

Jun discovers that his heart rate has increased. But takes no note of it.

“Sounds like a plan.”

“It is.”

“Why then, I will leave it in your capable hands, security guard Matsumoto-san.” Sakurai’s smile is mocking, but his voice is low, gravelly.  
Only after Sakurai finally turns away, does Jun allow himself to breathe.

 

Naturally, Jun ends up not being alone on the mission that evening. It is Sakurai’s friend that they are helping after all, and this way, they can test-run their communication system too, with Sakurai speaking to Jun through his ear-piece as Jun drives the Mercedes to the outskirts of town.

“Have you brought your sniper rifle?”

“Are you stupid Sakurai, of course I haven’t. What kind of bodyguard carries a sniper around?”

There is a hoarse, breathy sound in his ear, and it is Sakurai chuckling.

“I brought only a few weapons. This is a stealth mission after all. Not something as dramatic as what _you_ usually do. Which is why I am the one doing this.”

“So harsh, MatsuJun. You make it sound like I am terribly messy.”

“You are. Except for when you eat. At that time, you are surprisingly neat.”

“Oi.”

Too bad he cannot turn Sakurai off, Jun thinks as he briefly looks out the window, following all the skyscrapers that pass by, but smiles. There is no risk of anyone witnessing Jun smiling here.

“I would appreciate it if you would keep quiet, unless it is necessary for you to inform me about something regarding the mission tonight. I only want to hear your voice in dire situations.”

After Jun says this, Sakurai turns silent. A few seconds pass, and he considers repeating what he said, in case his partner did not hear him, and he even starts to worry that the earpiece does not work as well as Ninomiya had promised them, but then:

“You do realise you and I have the same occupation, don’t you, MatsuJun?” Sakurai’s voice is suddenly dark, and Jun realises his eyes have widened at the threatening note in the words said to him, “I hope you don’t forget that I, in addition, have a higher rank than you. Do not push your luck. My liking you can only stretch so far.”

A chill runs down Jun’s back, taking him by surprise, and he has to make a rather sudden turn that makes the wheels whine against the asphalt as he momentarily forgets where he is going and where he is; in a car, driving between thousands of steel buildings of Beijing.

The image of Sakurai’s shining, black eyes flashes before him, blinds him for only a fraction of a second, followed by the way he knows Sakurai would smirk cruelly while saying those words, imagines the way he would tilt his head and cross his arms.

Jun swallows, allows himself to be affected now that only sound connects them.

Heat gathers to tickle its way to his inner thighs.

*

Jun is guided through a set of high, metal gates by a man in dark grey, with his eyes covered by a set of big sunglasses – despite the lack of sun – but it is nothing Jun has not done before, and everything runs on routine, even as he states his business and is allowed access.

Usually, Jun would have wanted more time to plan, more time to talk things through and get to know the people he will be observing, perhaps even consult Nino, but since he and his partner are pressed on time, the planning had to be slimmed down to only one night. Whatever anxiety Jun might have had about that fact, is something he pushes to the back of his mind. He cannot get distracted and fumbly, especially now.

And, however much he hates to admit it, the mic in his ear – Sakurai by his side – calms his mind. He is not alone in this. Together, they will get this bump on the road out of the way, so they can finally get Aiba’s help to move on and be done in this horrible, smog-city.

For now, Sakurai remains silent, observing Jun’s progress through the words Jun utter to the people around him. He would know, now, for instance that Jun is allowed access to the building, the entry hall where a fellow guard shows him where to stand, for how long, and how Jun is not supposed to speak unless asked.

“Understood.” Jun simply states with a nod, listening with only half an ear when the guard continues to explain rules of conduct and blablabla.

Half of the reason why Jun only pretends to listen is because he does not understand all the mandarin words. It does not matter anyway. Jun is not here as an actual employee.

“And remember, no staring. You are supposed to protect the ministers, make them feel safe, while being invisible. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Jun nods once and turns around, his back now against the railing of the staircase behind him, eyes facing the far opposite wall, the window with the heavy wooden frame. Which leaves him staring at nothing but that.

His superior seems satisfied and makes a short, approving hum, before he finally moves away.

And Jun is free to observe. Although he cannot move his eyes, Jun does not need to, to take in all sounds around him as well as observe through the corner of his eye.

This could not have been a better position to be in. And given the place he is standing, where his fellow guard has put him, he has what is probably the best view of the whole room. Then again, for a guard to be effective, he needs to be able to observe in order to make quick movements and decisions. Which is not far from Jun’s usual job description.

He will not be listening in on their meeting, but he will see all the people that enter and leave this place. Which should be more than enough for him to find his target and come up with an idea of how to take him out as quickly and silently as possible.

After hearing Aiba’s description of the man he saw, and based on what Sakurai and Jun have been doing recently, plus the missions Jun has carried out in China before, the two assassins have quite a good idea of whom they are hunting tonight. And thus, Jun will know whose name to listen for, what kind of face in the crowd he is to keep a keen eye on.

The long room Jun finds himself in, is covered mostly in tatami mats, the ceiling low and the windows big, leaving the residents to enjoy the view of a big Chinese garden, decorated with small springs and gnarly trees. So very different from the city, less than 30 kilometres from the estate. The soft-looking paper-lamps cast a sleepy, soothing light onto Jun’s surroundings, and Jun believes that golden decorations and big, expensive-looking plants are not restricted to only this room.

Such incredible wealth. All for the Ministry of State Security and their “secret” meetings.

Jun does not get to wait long, for his target to walk in and right past him without even throwing him a glance, without having the faintest idea of the danger, the minister is in.

Aiba described him as being short, with fat cheeks and glasses, but otherwise slim, with a square face. Maybe. Amidst Aiba’s babbling – half of it incomprehensible – of what he might have seen and might not have seen, Jun did prepare himself for plot-holes, but – although he does recognise the minister, who is now standing, prepared to enter the meeting room along with the rest of his colleagues – he is not quite what Jun expected after hearing Aiba’s statement.

The minister does wear glasses, but aside from an obvious underbite, his face is rather round. His cheeks are not fat, but sunken, with wrinkles around his mouth (possibly Aiba saw him with his mouth full of food), and he is not short, rather his legs are.

Jun mentally rolls his eyes. That Aiba continues to give him trouble. This waste of time and effort better be worth it for him and the intel Aiba provides in return.

“I take it everything is going as planned?”

Sakurai speaks up in his ear-piece but – obviously – Jun does not answer, merely folds his hands in front of himself, shifting his weight.

“Yes, yes, I get it. Silence, naturally. Well, stay quiet, if you need no help…” a pause, “Didn’t think so.”

Sakurai must be bored by himself, if he is making these comments when he knows there is no way Jun would answer and put himself in danger. Right now, Sakurai might as well be talking to himself.

The thought somehow amuses Jun – that Sakurai gets this annoying when he does not get to take part in a job. Jun can understand his frustration, if he is being honest with himself.

Sakurai only plays a small part in this mission, despite it being his friend that they are helping. It is no wonder he is frustrated. And yet, he trusts Jun to carry this out for him, trusts that Jun is the better candidate.

All these thoughts run through Jun’s mind as he observes, takes in his surroundings and possible escape routes. It will be hard to get to any of these ministers, although it seems that they do not have any personal bodyguards, only the ones hired to protect the building they are currently in. Of which Jun is one of those protectors. If he could somehow convince the minister to follow him, to get him alone… That would be the optimal outcome. Get the man alone, and he would be completely vulnerable. Although, getting a minister, who is part of what is evidently the Chinese secret service, alone, to follow an unknown bodyguard will be taking a bit of a risk. If he does not agree, it will make Jun seem suspicious. And in these circles, it is highly unlikely that they will only kick Jun out and fire him on the spot. Suspicious behaviour will be investigated. And should it come to that, Jun is in big trouble.

The meeting lasts for about three hours, during which Jun mostly remains still, calm and rigid like a statue. He makes only little movement, shifting his weight occasionally, looking around when he notices the other guards’ attention on him faltering. Three hours is plenty of time to think, plenty of time to plan. Although Jun is well aware that he is not Sakurai, and currently, Sakurai must know little to nothing about Jun’s situation, given that Jun cannot speak to him.

Sakurai does not know where Jun is placed, that he is waiting for a meeting to end, that Jun plans to lure that one minister away from the others and break his neck.

So, Jun is on his own in this. And that unwelcome thought flies through his mind, when the doors to the meeting room finally open, and he is allowed only minutes to accomplish what he has set out to do from the very beginning. Suddenly, it seems far from as easy as Jun insisted to Sakurai that it is. There are 15 ministers, 5 guards, and one infiltrator, in a big house, Jun is not familiar with. Hell, he is not even sure that said minister has not just told all the others about Aiba during the meeting.

However much he tries to, Jun cannot push these thoughts of insecurity away, and that is big trouble, and although he knows this, he still moves in. Stubborn as he is.

*

He should have known, he should have bloody well known!

Jun is hissing as quietly as he can into the tiny mic stuck in the label of his jacket, sounds coming out in rushed breaths. His hiding spot below the basement stairs will not protect him forever, he needs to get out quick, even if it will be without a kill. And even if it puts them all into a reckless, deadly situation.

Things went wrong, Jun admits to Sakurai in an angry voice. They were not ready. And now, Aiba is truly in serious danger.

Contrary to what Jun imagined, Sakurai barks out a short “I am on my way.”, without a second’s hesitation, leaving Jun with nothing to analyse, no way of knowing what mood Sakurai will be in.

The situation could not possibly have been any worse.

  
*

The sun has set, and the twilight is casting mischievous, dancing shadows on the ground and the buildings around them, making it appear as though they have entered another world of dark blue and grey. The few trees and bushes alongside the roads adopt weird shapes and almost seem as though they are reaching for Jun with long, crooked claws as he flies past.

There is a brief, wheezing sound shooting past Jun’s ear, and although his heart jumps, he does not falter.

Sakurai is screaming behind him, gunshots echoing in the still night air, bullets flying everywhere, closer and closer to Jun’s head, “Jun, run! Get a fucking move on!”   
Jun is running as fast as he can, he wants to turn and say, ducking every now and then, and his legs are hurting from the weight he carries. He tries to keep an eye out for some place to run to, an alley, a park, somewhere to hide, but sees nothing, everything passes by too fast, it is a blur. Sweat is running down his back, down his temples, from both exhaustion and the shock.

It has been a very long time since Jun found himself in a situation like this. It was back when Jun was not even hired into the organisation yet. A time, in which he remembers only running. Spending every living breath, he had, in flight.

This was not the way it was supposed to go today, it was supposed to be planned perfectly. But when Jun truly considers it, he knows they were taking a risk, being this rushed. Jun did not let Sakurai plan as he usually does, as he usually prefers. Because they were short on time, impatient to get to the next step.

And it is Jun’s fault that they are here now. Sakurai did not even have to come to his aid. Yet, he did. Without hesitation.

“Jun! Down here!”

Jun comes to a sudden halt, not even thinking twice about trusting Sakurai wholeheartedly when he forces Jun to stop and turn around, turn towards the guards, towards the guns and the bullets. Without hesitation, he follows Sakurai down a dark alley, eyes spotting what Sakurai managed to see and Jun did not, through the shadows as they tease him from along the brick walls on both sides, calling the killer to a place where he belongs.

Sakurai crouches down beside the heavy, metal lid, fingers slipping as he rushes to open it, wet and slimy as it is. When he does not succeed on his first try, he rips his black leather gloves off his hands, perhaps tearing the fabric in the process and throws them recklessly to the side in impatience and anger.

“You first.”

“What?”

“Go, damn it Jun!” The way Sakurai looks at him, eyes wild and pleading, leaves Jun no choice.

Later he will ask why, why would Sakurai put himself in danger like that?

Because he takes the blow for Jun.

Jun has barely gotten his head down below the lid, when Sakurai suddenly gasps loudly above him, making Jun snap his head upwards, witnessing the way Sakurai is oddly hunched, face falling forward. His bangs are falling down into his face, so Jun cannot see.

“Sho?”  
“Move!”

And again, he presents Jun with no choice as he grabs a borderline painful hold of Jun’s shoulder and gives him a hard shove down the rest of the way.

Jun loses his hold on the metal bars and falls a couple of meters down into sewer water, landing with a loud splash and getting the disgusting liquid into his nose and mouth. And he is quickly followed by an even clumsier fall next to him as Sakurai hits the water.

The way Sakurai grunts in pain and has to roll over onto his stomach to get up makes worry seep deeper into Jun than the stinky water do.

“Wh-”  
“For fuck’s sake Jun, did I tell you to stop? Move!”

Jun spends only two seconds looking into Sakurai’s steely eyes, catching the way his pupils are quickly expanding, not only because of the darkness.

He is in pain.

But there is no time, no time at all, and they both know it, so Jun turns to run into the cold darkness, knee-deep in water, underground and hidden from view, from anyone who tries to follow them. The water is dangerous, filled with several vile things, and Jun can feel the cold immediately starting to seep into his bones, and he just keeps on moving, with no knowledge of where he is going, and he does not care. As long as he can still hear Sho beside him.

 

*

 

Jun hates himself. He hates himself so much for letting this happen, for being so sloppy, for being an idiot, for dragging Sho into this, when it was Jun’s mistake. It was Jun who rushed things, Jun who was over-confident and reckless.

And perhaps that is evident in his movements as he pushes the damp cloth down onto the bullet wound on Sho’s shoulder again and again, and the man winches.

“Hey, hey Jun, that hurts. Be gentle, would you? Or are you finally trying to kill me, now that you can pin it on someone else?”

It is so confusing, for Jun.

This is Sho, and Sho is cold and calculated and a perfectionist. And Sho never messes up. But Jun did. And Sho is the one who got hurt because of it. What an idiot.

“Shut up.” Jun hisses even though Sho is wearing a crooked grin, when Jun looks up at him. “A patient should keep his mouth shut.” Although there is poison in Jun’s words, the toxin is not aimed at Sho.

The man is a mess, face dirty, hair flat and wet with sewer water and sweat, a stark contrast to his usually neatly styled undercut. The water from his black trousers is seeping into the clean, white linen of the bed, but none of them pays it any mind. It does not even bother Jun, he knows his priorities, and this is not the time.

Sho laughs at Jun’s retort, at which he just ends up winching in pain. The idiot.

Despite Jun’s partner being half-naked and lying on Jun’s bed, covered in blood-soaked towels and bandages – after Jun removed the bullet – Jun is not fully present. He is already planning what he is going to do as soon as the drugs kicks in, and Sho falls asleep. How he is going to exact his revenge on the bastards who shot Sho, those who witnessed it all. Jun will leave none of them alive. Even if he has to massacre the entire State of Security building.

“Your brow is all wrinkly, are you worried about me? That is cute.”

Sho should know better than to poke at Jun now, in his state. Jun is honestly afraid he is gonna kill his partner if he continues.

But instead of attacking Sho and choking him with a nearby pillow, Jun flings the blood-soaked cloth to the side and moves into Sho’s space so fast that Sho blinks in surprise.

Jun is seething. Holding himself up with his hands on either side of Sho’s chest which is caked with dried blood, Jun explodes, finally voicing out the reason for the weight on his shoulders, like boulders.

“I am furious. How _dare_ you take the blow for the mistake I made?!! It is MY fault, my fuck-up that brought them onto us! _I_ should be lying dead because of it!” Sho’s smile instantly vanishes, and his eyes widen in realisation, “Assassins do _not_ make mistakes! Never!”

And then Jun stands up, legs getting tangled in the bed covers on the ground, causing him to stumble, but quickly regain his balance, before he stomps into the bathroom. Getting alcohol for the wound will be his excuse, while he gives himself a chance to breathe, to recollect himself. And that is exactly what he does, placing his shaking hands on either side of the cold sink in front of the mirror, bending his head and heaving a deep sigh, hoping it will cool him down.

He is just so angry with himself. Angry at getting angry and riled up. Is this the kind of assassin he is? Someone whose emotions get the better of him?

But it is not just that. He is furious at Sho for taking the bullet for him, for hurting himself for Jun.

With all the resistance Jun has given him, all the trouble he has been to Sho, his reluctance to help and be a partner to him, Sho still saved his ass. With all that Sho has shown Jun, with all the blood and death Sho is the cause of, with his cruel, cold nature, with his terrifying torturing abilities, he still showed up by Jun’s side to put himself in danger. To put himself in harm’s way for Jun.

This is all Jun’s fault. Those words keep on thundering in his head, as Jun blames himself, and seeing the pain Sho is in, the bravery he displays, despite how serious the wound is, Jun just cannot handle it. There is no way he can forget this before it is erased, avenged. With blood.


	4. Chapter 4

His eyes are stinging. The metal in his hand is hot from use. There is gun smoke rising beside him, reaching his nostrils, mixing with the tangy, rusty smell. A smell which would make anyone else gag.   
The room is covered in darkness, the light bulbs shattered, glass on the floor. The one source of light to tell what has happened is the pale moon. White light illuminates the room and creates a silver-blue canvas, hides the colour of evidence.

When he reaches up to wipe his eyes, the thick, warm substance makes his fingers sticky, and he blinks.

Before him is a massacre.

It is horribly messy, but when Jun leaves, the only thing he makes sure to bring with him is evidence and all traces of his presence.

No one will ever know who murdered the entire group of ministers of the State of Security.

Jun gets his revenge.

 

But Jun is not finished.

Blood is covering the hands he hides in his pockets on the way up in the elevator, his eyes seeing equally red, and a fog has settled in Jun’s brain, body acting on its own. There is a pain in his upper arm where he was hit, the only place, that one miss; one guard he failed to notice in his rush of adrenaline, surrounded by death. The sting is the reason for the daze, the heightening of Jun’s senses, intensifying his purpose. It ignites the fire in Jun’s stomach, makes him move faster, makes him barge through the door, lock it without looking.

His eyes observe that the bed is empty, that the linens have been changed, his ears perceive that the tub is occupied, his nose picks up the fresh scent of soap, of cologne. Of Sho.

Instantly, the redness in his eyes flares, the heat in his stomach, in his head, his heart, moves to his groin, and Jun licks his lips.

He has been wanting to do this for days now, but doing it now, taking the other part by surprise… The thought makes a thrill pierce through the increasingly darkening haze inside Jun.

He _wants_.

And when he unceremoniously drops the gun on the floor, walks out of his loose, black trousers, leaves them behind him on his way to the bed, to the closet, Jun does not think. Only when he pulls his shirt over his head, does he take a deep breath, forcing himself to stay in the same state of mind as he was in half an hour ago, in the dark room full of dead bodies, of people he killed. He moved on instinct then, on want, red, hot desire, fuelled by the pain in his head, in his arm. And he wants to stay there.

Jun ignores the deep thumping in his head, the blood from the wound now running down his bare arm, down his leg and dirtying the floor. On a rack, there is a soft robe, and Jun pulls it on, not bothering to tie it.

Steam is creeping out under the bathroom door, soft sounds of water and someone moving beaconing Jun closer, faster, a temptation just like the thought of a kill.

He does not know if he is breathing, if he is holding his breath, if his heart still beats.

When he opens the door, he does so with no hesitation, grabbing the cold handle before he thinks, his eyes turning passive, and they zero in on the naked body amidst scalding water, only taking up a fifth of the space.

For just a second, Jun stops.

If Sho is awake, if Sho is in the bath, if Sho is leaning back against the marble as he is, eyes turning darker and darker as they move down Jun’s barely covered naked body, Sho knows exactly where Jun has been. What Jun has done.   

And he has let it happen. No questions asked.

No one says anything, Jun’s eyes bore into Sho, not wavering while Sho obviously, boldly, takes in the view exposed to him, offered. It is equally silent when Jun drops the robe, moving very little as he only relaxes his shoulders, moves his arms behind him.

He is well aware of how hard he is, how hard he has been since he became aware of what he wants; the second he stepped into the elevator. And his arousal only intensifies as Sho slowly tilts his head back, scorching eyes burning into Jun’s, while Sho slowly licks his lips.

It takes all of Jun’s willpower to move slowly, to make it a show, to drag it out and make them both as wanting as possible before he steps into the water, joins Sho in the tub. But there is no beating around the bush now, both of them knowing what the other wants.

Nevertheless, Jun suddenly feels his heart, feels it pounding against his chest, pumping blood into his veins, around his body, making it pulse in his ears, sending chilling sensations all the way down to his toes, like a rush and making him high.

And when he stands right in front of Sho, watches how exposed Sho is, arms resting on the edges of the tub, back against the beautiful, cream-coloured stone, lips and eyes tempting in red and black, head tilted in arrogance and challenge, Jun lets go. Completely.

He offers little regard for Sho’s wound, for his own when he drops down into Sho’s lap. And the other assassin seems to care equally little.

Sho’s touch _burns_.

Fingers that are almost painful grab onto the back of Jun’s neck, immediately harshly twisting into the small tufts of black hair at Jun’s nape, and when Sho roughly pulls, Jun does not hold back his gasp. Sho’s other hand is like searing iron against Jun’s side, when it claws around hipbone. And he draws Jun in like he has been yearning for it for too long, so rapidly that Jun has to scramble to support himself with a hand against the marble beside Sho’s shoulder.

And there is no place for hesitation or recovery because Sho’s mouth is against Jun’s, hot and inviting, tongue invading Jun’s mouth when Jun’s gasps, while their erections rub against each other. Just then, it is as if there is a clicking in Jun’s brain, and where he avoided touch before, he can suddenly not get enough, hands touching every patch of Sho’s soft skin, hard muscles and smooth scars, displaying his need, hoping Sho will touch him equally in return. Jun’s body screams for it, screams for pressure, for hands leaving burning patches and bruises, marks for him to see.

Jun leaves moans in Sho’s mouth, leaves bites along his jaw, never stalling to lick skin in apology. And the more Jun bites and the more he digs his nails into Sho’s biceps, into Sho’s abdominal muscles, the tighter Sho’s hold on Jun becomes.

They have still not uttered a word, and what sounds they make – Jun mostly – starts to invade the space around them, when Sho puts his tempting mouth to good use.

Sho places wet kisses and bites along Jun’s clavicle, tongue pausing where Jun’s shoulder meets his neck to lick away traces of drying, red substance, and Jun throws his head to the side in a heady moan, erection twitching between his legs, and his back arches. In return, an erotic growl rumbles from Sho’s throat, his reaction to the wanton display of lust, and one of his hands simultaneously _pulls_ at Jun’s hip, drawing Jun closer before it scoots down to Jun’s ass, nails digging into the skin of his ass.

And Jun moans again, panting when he, with a hand in Sho’s dark hair, invites him closer to Jun by pushing at the back of Sho’s head, down Jun’s chest, towards his stiffening nipples.

Although Jun does not fail to notice the muffled chuckle against his warm skin, Sho accepts the invitation happily, skipping the slow trail down Jun’s pectorals to just latch onto Jun’s right nipple, capturing it between hot lips, before his tongue darts out to taste.

The sight of Sho doing such a thing to Jun is almost as arousing as the sucking around the nub. Jun pants, breath becoming laboured, and when Sho starts using his teeth, tugging teasingly at the flesh, which causes spikes of pain to roll over Jun’s skin, Jun finds himself starting to grind forward, hips moving against Sho in his lap.

Which Sho of course notices immediately, emitting a loud hiss just as he pulls roughly at Jun’s hair, forcing Jun’s mouth down against his again for an equally filthy kiss. Before he answers Jun’s evident need by sneaking the hand at Jun’s backside downwards.

It is all rushed, very heady and their equal need has them bypassing most of what would be foreplay and body appreciation, although Jun uses every opportunity to salivate over the sight of Sho’s toned chest and his powerful shoulders and arms – limbs he has seen before, but chosen to pretend to be unaffected by. _What a fool._

And Jun does not fail to notice how Sho seems to know exactly where all of his beauty marks are, although he has obviously never before had the chance to search for them, to kiss them and nip at them as he is doing now, currently occupied with one of the two fat ones on the side of Jun’s neck, just by his hairline.

It is while he is doing that, sucking and biting, obviously marking Jun to the point of pain, that Jun surprises himself by breaking the, almost sacred, silence between them, since Jun stepped through the door to the hotel,

“Sho-...” it is a whisper of a word, voice cracking at the end because Sho’s teeth tug painfully at the thin flesh by his nape.

But it causes Sho to freeze, and Sho pausing makes Jun freeze in return, immediately thinking that he did the wrong thing, that the spell is now broken.

Although, it is not for more than a second that such an insecurity is allowed in Jun’s head, because the next moment, Sho moans, teeth relinquishing their hold so Sho can bring his mouth to Jun’s ear.

His laboured breathing causes puffs of hot breath to become sticky on Jun’s ear, “Say it again,”

The air gets caught in Jun’s throat.

Sho catches his earlobe between his teeth. “Say it again, Jun. Say my name.”

“Sho.” This time, it comes out as a low moan, a plea.

And in return, Sho growls, fingers below the water sneaking closer to Jun’s entrance, teasing the rim, “You sound so good.”

Jun throws his head forward at the praise, aiming for the protruding veins at the side of Sho’s delicious, thick neck, and he latches onto them, letting his tongue trace the planes as he tastes salt and Sho, high on the still-rising electricity between their bodies. Still not close enough. He closes his lips around the contortions, sucking at skin while groaning quietly, hips increasing their pace as he thrusts forward against Sho’s hot body. His hipbones knock against Sho’s sides, his cock rubbing irregularly against Sho’s, precome rising to the surface of the water.

There is a satchel of lube in the second drawer of the bathroom cabinet below the sink, but it is too far for Jun to reach while he is busy with Sho’s neck. He might be able to reach it, if he rises just a little above the water, releasing Sho for a second. But Jun is so reluctant to let go now that he has gotten a taste, high on the smell of the assassin below him, the sound of the water around them, threatening to splash onto the ground at their combined movements, while Sho’s rough hands leave burning patterns in their wake on Jun’s skin.

But, then, the following moment, Jun emits a muffled shout against Sho’s neck, when he feels electrocuted, the feeling of Sho’s index finger starting to probe around the entrance to Jun’s hole, putting pressure on the rim and forcing the first link through with no hesitation and no request for permission.

Sho is not holding back and would probably not hesitate to take Jun without any form of lubrication.

That, after all, seems to be Jun’s task; making sure that Sho can slick him up nicely and prepare him before they tear each other apart. The realisation makes Jun clench his teeth and hiss at Sho. His hands fly up to Sho’s face, taking it between them to yank Sho away from where he has been sucking and licking behind Jun’s ear. He tries distracting Sho by kissing him harshly, more teeth than lips, thoroughly tasting Sho and not letting him fight back, and then, thinking he has successfully brought the man a little off balance, he shifts his weight in Sho’s lap and stands up.

The action forces Sho to let go of his hips, albeit reluctantly, and he does raise an eyebrow at Jun, black eyes following him, when he reaches for the drawer. Jun would be lying if he pretended that lustful stare did not affect him and cause waves of pleasure to run down his spine.

Jun manages to find and pull out the small square package, water running in drops from his wet arm onto the floor and to the inside of the drawer as he roams around without sight.

Beside him, there is a discreet chuckle, annoying Jun, and it only gains Sho a sharp slap to his good shoulder when Jun sinks back into his lap,

“Shut up.” Jun snarls, focusing on the satchel in his hand, working on tearing it open with his teeth.

Sho’s arms are quickly around him again, feeling their way around Jun’s narrow waist possessively and making Jun shiver.

Sho smirks at him, “Or what, MatsuJun?”

“Or I will do this myself,”

Jun snaps his teeth at the air in front of Sho’s face, teasingly, and quickly earns a wider grin in response, something he cannot help but mirror, “Neither one of us will be very happy about that.”

Never shy, Jun grabs one of Sho’s wrists when it sinks below the water, too close to Jun’s ass again and pulls it up. Just to press the lube into Sho’s hand, a meaningful look in his eye when he narrows them at Sho.

“Please tell me you know your way around this.”

Sho just throws him a sultry look in return, eyes like black fire, full of lust and Sho scoffs, “I will have you begging for mercy in less than five minutes.”

Like everything else, Jun accepts the challenge with his head tilting back haughtily.

-

Three of Sho’s fingers are relentless as they pump in and out of Jun in a harsh, demanding pace. They leave Jun no room to adjust to the pressing sensation against his walls and prostate when they interchangeably scissor and stretch as well as pull and push against his opening.

Jun is gasping for breath, panting harshly as he tries to sink down in sync with the digits, desperate to chase the increasing pleasure. With one arm around Sho’s shoulders, the other supporting Jun’s weight against Sho’s muscular thigh, Jun leaves little of Sho’s skin unscratched as he sinks his nails into muscle and bone, continuing to grind his pelvis against Sho’s heavy cock. And when he occasionally takes a deep breath, he listens to Sho’s small hisses of pain and pleasure, praising himself for doing this to Sho.

At a particularly cruel thrust of Sho’s fingers, Jun moans loudly, forcing his hand downwards to press into Sho’s thigh painfully and simultaneously push himself a little away from the other man,

“Sho. Sho, stop. I want it, now. _Now_.”

“Want what?” Sho’s chuckle against his cheek is strained too, so Jun knows that Sho is equally wanting, equally impatient despite his pretence to be the only one pushing Jun closer and closer to the edge.

Which leaves Jun little incentive to beat around the bush.

“Fuck me, I want you to fuck me.” Jun pants, “I have been patient long enough.”

Sho groans, withdrawing his fingers instantly as if on command, only to grab onto Jun’s buttock with his now slick fingers and pull him further into Sho’s lab.

Jun straightens up, rising on his knees to get into position.

The fire has calmed in him, but the burning is far from sated; quite the contrary.

Sho now has a hold on Jun’s ass with both hands, and while Jun watches how he aims his thick erection against Jun’s opening, salivating at the sight, Jun dwells in the feeling of Sho’s sweaty skin underneath his fingertips, in the smell of sex and Sho’s shower gel, in the now only warm water around them and the steam which hides the mirror and makes it hard to breathe. He is so close to Sho – to someone he could not admit that he wants to have this close – and he wants to be closer still. It is far from enough for him. He does not yet _feel_ enough.

And neither is it enough when Sho penetrates him in one long push, and Jun has to throw his head back in a rough whine at the intrusion, the burning stretch making him see stars, his thighs trembling when Sho insistently pulls him down. Close, so close.

Jun gasps for breath, taking Sho’s face into his hands and forcing their lips together in a messy, open-mouthed kiss, leaving him panting and moaning against Sho’s tongue. And their teeth clash, making it far from pretty as Sho starts thrusting upwards, cock stretching Jun’s hole, despite the previous preparation.

The water becomes more upset around them, now splashing onto the floor, which none of them takes note of.

By pulling Sho closer by placing the crook of his elbow around his nape, Jun can regain some balance with his other hand on the edge of the bathtub behind Sho. But they are both so strung out now, Jun’s wound only just having stopped bleeding, while Sho’s has reopened, staining the water red, so they speed toward the end.

It is as if they communicate without words, there is no need for talk when they want the same thing, setting a harsh, painful rhythm against each other while their bodies get hotter, muscles working hard; Sho’s to drive his length harder and deeper into Jun at each thrust, Jun’s to do the same thing, to sink back onto Sho and continue to hit accurately, feeling so much pleasure that he has trouble breathing.

“Not enough. Not enough,” Jun pants frantically, raising his head and throwing Sho a sultry, heady look.

Sho groans in return, fingers digging into the flesh of Jun’s ass and around a hipbone. He will be leaving bruises as the force of his touch increases, but Jun will make sure to leave his own patterns in return, scattered all over Sho’s neck and shoulder.

“I might hurt you.” Sho’s voice is a hoarse mumble, the words honest.

But Jun just growls, frustrated and annoyed, and when he drops down into Sho’s lap next, he rolls his hips downwards, muscles clenching hard around Sho, making them both moan,

“What if I want you to?”

“I could tear you apart.”

The colour red briefly swims before Jun’s eyes, as if engulfing Sho in its shades of warning and destruction. There is a phantom pain in Jun’s back, the memory of a stinging hit.

Jun leans further forward, drawing his knees together around Sho, around the deadly man below him who will undoubtedly cause him pain, who will undoubtedly keep his promise.

Jun leaves heavy, hot puffs of breath on his face, holding Sho’s eyes prisoner, “Tear me apart.”

Something snaps in Sho, Jun can see in his eyes how something falls into place, and restraints are broken.

Water is forced out of the bathtub in a big splash, now drowning the white tiles below, and the sound is loud enough to be heard in the floor below, caused by Sho very suddenly rising.

Before Jun can realise what is happening, caught by surprise and thrown off balance, Sho has turned him around, forced him against the hard edges of the tub, front first for the stone to bite and push back at him, unrelenting. And then there is Sho’s rough hands, closing around his hips.

Jun is pulled back, pulled back onto Sho’s cock re-entering him. And he yells, muffles his scream against his arm as he scrambles to gain a hold, half of his body under water, half his body facing the warm steam. On his knees, he feels the scraping against bones every time Sho pulls him violently back against him, again and again and again. Only after Jun has regained a temporary hold on his surroundings, on himself, does he have the capability to push back against Sho, who rewards him with a curse, followed by repeats of his name in a gravelly voice.

Pleasure builds faster and faster in Jun, quicker this time, as the change in position – in Sho’s attitude – makes it possible for his cock to slide deeper. When he leans forward to start biting at Jun’s neck, only sucking occasionally to make it bearable, Jun’s toes curl, and he arches, wanting nothing more than to take all of what Sho is giving him.

Then Sho starts testing, adding more and more pressure to the fingers he presses into Jun’s flesh, biting harder and harder between sucks, and he seems to be gaining a sense of understanding, as he focuses on Jun’s reactions, most likely seeing nothing but lust and want in Jun’s movements, hearing nothing but ecstasy in Jun’s whines and moans. When his hand slides up Jun’s arm, Jun tenses.

Breath catches in Jun’s throat.

Sho squeezes around his bleeding deltoid, and Jun _screams_.

It hurts, searing pain making Jun momentarily forget where he is, who he is. The pain _tears_ at him like wildfire, eating at his concentration, his sanity.

Sho’s fingers digs into the wound, blood oozing out again, dirtying his fingers and Jun’s skin, the water they are standing in, but Jun is close, so close, and Sho sees. He groans loudly, biting into Jun’s shoulder-blade, right below a beauty mark and then he thrusts upwards, right against Jun’s prostate, his other hand forcing Jun’s hips backwards onto his cock.

And Jun wails again, this time finally spilling against the tiles, some of it ending up on the floor, orgasm hitting him so hard that he sees white, only registering what Sho is doing when he is coming back down, feeling Sho’s last brutal thrust into him before Sho comes too, the sensation of warmth causing Jun to sigh in pleasure.

Pleased with himself for making Sho come undone like this.

This changes everything.

 

*

Jun curses while fighting to wrap his upper arm in bandages. It is hard to do with one hand, the left one at that, and the fabric keeps slipping between his fingers.

The wound left the bathwater bloody, left him having to clean himself with alcohol and a towel, before making any kind of move to wrap it up. But Jun must admit it was worth it, when Sho rose in front of him, blood and water running down his naked, pale skin, drops caught in the crooks of his muscles, particularly in the valley below his pectorals. Jun had caught himself staring too late, Sho had already noticed and was smiling smugly. And when Jun reached out to smack Sho with an annoyed hiss, the other assassin had simply caught his wrist and pulled him close, stumbling in the water, to bring their faces close to each other, noses almost touching so Jun could see the imperfections of Sho’s skin, the crinkles around his eyes as he continued to grin.

And Sho is chuckling again behind him, his voice getting closer, probably enjoying Jun’s struggle with his wound.

Jun bites the inside of his lip in annoyance, ready to tell Sho off as he whirls around, but the words get stuck in his throat when Sho is standing so close behind him that he starts.

“What!?” he snarls instead, and Sho’s smile just widens.

“Do you need help with that?” Sho’s eyebrow is raised, amusement is dancing in his eyes.

“No!”

“Stop being so stubborn, Matsumoto, and let me help.”

Some of the fight seeps out of Jun as he presses the bandages into Sho’s outstretched hand with a sour hrmpf.

And it is not because he does not want Sho’s help – not really – and it is not because he regrets what they did just minutes ago, but part of Jun, a very small part of him – hidden behind his confidence and lust for blood – feels bashful. It is the source of those shivers that run down Jun’s spine, when Sho’s warm hands touch his shoulder, when his fingers ghost over Jun’s skin, when he wraps the fabric around Jun’s upper arm, guiding it around the muscle.

Intimacy, like this, is scarier than raw lust, and leaves one much more vulnerable.

Jun rarely, if ever, allows people to touch him, so it is a strange sensation, when he allows this person to get so close, to actually touch places Jun promised himself no one should ever touch again. Sho is dangerous, perhaps even more so than most people, Jun has met throughout his life, and he could harm Jun more than what has been done to him in the past. Even so…

“I didn’t expect for you to land yourself a wound, MatsuJun.”

“Shut up, I was caught up in the moment. It is barely a scratch anyway.”

Sho’s deep chuckle makes Jun feel warm in the cheeks, and right now, he is relieved that he is facing away from Sho.

“Did you do it for me?”

“Of course not.”

There is uncertainty in Sho’s voice, mixed in with the amusement and smugness that is so characteristic to Sho, but Jun answers automatically, the habits getting the better of him. But when Sho asks him to turn around, he does, coming around to face Sho whose head is tilted, eyebrows raised. Clearly not convinced.

“I never leave a job half-done.” Jun continues, not lying.

But Sho then takes a step towards him, and without even thinking, Jun steps back, eyes widening when he realises what he just did. And Sho realises too. His eyes narrow and it pulls at the corner of his mouth. When he takes another step, Jun steps back again. Only to bump into the table behind him.

What is this anyway?

“What are you doin-”

“Jun.”   
The sound of his name on Sho’s lips makes Jun shut up, a strange sensation making his annoyance evaporate, although he finds himself like a cornered rabbit.

Then Sho’s arms frame his waist when he leans forward, rests his hands on the table behind Jun. There is something in Sho’s eyes then, something that makes Jun lost for words, lost for a sarcastic comeback. The look in Sho’s gaze is not a look someone like him should be sporting; it seems misplaced.

“You are marvellous, Jun. Dangerous, violent, unpredictable.” Sho begins, and his voice is a whisper, a breath on Jun’s face, “Don’t supress those uncontrollable emotions of yours.”

Jun’s narrowed eyes widen.

When Sho tilts his head, his eyes flicker to Jun’s mouth, lips brushing against each other, “If you let them loose… There is no limit to what you can do. I can’t wait to see what you are capable of.”

That roughness to Sho’s voice, the way he keeps Jun’s eyes prisoner makes Jun feel as though Sho can see right through him, and perhaps he can. Especially after tonight, after Jun’s emotions took over, consumed him, and the anger made him capable of things his usually organised and perfectionistic self could not have done.

Sho is the calm one, the composed one. That is when he is the most dangerous. When he is in control, when he has the upper hand and has predicted everything, all the choices people will make.

With Jun, his flaws and emotions are what drives him.

Did Sho know all along, or did this night expose it all? Jun cannot believe Sho just realised something Jun had not figured out. Even after all this time.

In that moment, Sho caresses Jun’s face, the action both leaking supressed dominance but also compassion. However compassionate an assassin can be. And Sho’s smile is wide. Wicked.

“I get the feeling that this contract in China is not the end of our adventures. So, let us get it over with quickly and painlessly.”

Jun tilts his head backwards a little, and mirrors Sho’s smile.

 “As if you’d ever want to make anything painless, Sho-san.”

In Sho’s eyes there is promise and excitement, wheels already turning.

 

*

_  
_ ”Target in sight.”

”Copy. Remain on standby.”

The man is standing in the crowd, flanked by two broad guards in suits and sunglasses. If it was not so cliché, it might have looked cool. No, on second thought, body guards like that are probably just for display, with no real fight in them.

“Alright, I am preparing stage two.”

“Slow.”

The mass of people consists of an array of ages and colours, and from here, they all look so small, so insignificant, their faces a blurry mass of eyes and lips. It is hard to see, from this distance, if those smiles are real. If their cheering for the military leader comes from the heart, or from fear.

He runs his gloved hand down the smooth, black side of the weapon, adjusts his grip, keeping his eyes fixed on the target through the scope.

“Oi, Sakurai, what is taking you so long?”

“Impatient as always, MatsuJun. I know you think you will not mess this up, but I have to cover all bases, should you miss.”

“I won’t miss.”

The person on the other end hums. Unimpressed as usual.

There is movement in Jun’s line of sight.

“Sakurai.”

“Got ya’. You have permission to kill.”

“If I hit, sushi is on you tonight.”

“Forget your damn anago for just one moment, please.”

_And the bullet flies._  
  


*

 

Jun has not been this satisfied and comfortable for a very long time.

His body is buzzing after the successful kill, adrenaline subsided and substituted for a belly full of high-quality sushi and strong, red wine. His head is slightly fuzzy, but the linens underneath him have never been softer.

Tomorrow, they will go back to Japan, and just in time for the sakura trees to bloom too, Jun thinks. He has had enough of China’s tall buildings and polluted air for sure, and longs to be back in his own apartment, watering his bonsai, cooking his own meals.

When he turns, he can see Sho in the bed beside Jun’s, sitting with the pillow supporting his back while he reads a book in the light of the bedside lamp. Sho is wearing a white T-shirt that Jun wishes he would take off, his legs hidden underneath the covers.

Through his eyelashes, eyes heavy lidded, Jun watches the other man for a while. Until Sho’s eyes dart from the lines in his book, straight into Jun’s resilient gaze, and Jun does not waver.

Sho raises an eyebrow in question.

“You know…” Jun starts and although he is well aware that the wine is doing most of the talking, he continues, “I doubt these two months would have gone so well had I done this alone.”

Sho does not answer at first. Instead, he lowers his book, the cover hitting the white duvet as Sho continues to stare at Jun.

Jun cannot read the emotions behind his eyes, whatever thoughts he is having, and Jun wonders if he said the wrong thing. He has an impractical habit of lowering his guard when affected by alcohol, and paired with Sho’s gesture of buying him the best anago he could find within a 70 km. radius – and plenty of it – Jun is practically stripped naked.

His mind clears with the thought of rejection, and he opens his mouth.

“Really now?” Sho asks, and he shifts a bit, the big shirt revealing half a collarbone.

Well, Jun cannot take his words back now.

“Yes. I have never met anyone in the organization with tactical skills as strong as yours. Today’s successful mission-” Jun licks his lips and pulls the covers up to his chin. As if that would hide his exposure, “The credit should go to you and how you planned it all.”

“Jun, you were the one who held the gun.”

“I was merely the tool.”

The book is now moved completely away, placed on the small bedside-table.

Sho is turned halfway towards Jun and the curve of his backside and legs is visible, albeit hidden, “My, never thought you would refer to yourself as such,”

He grins, but Jun does not mirror it.

“What number are you anyway?”

The smile freezes on Sho’s face, and his expression shifts to being serious, a drawn look in his eyes, but the lack of emotion in his face vanishes as quickly as it appeared, substituted for a new smirk, “That’s a secret.”

“Hey!”

Sho moves and sinks below the covers, mirroring Jun’s position, only his neck and head visible. His eyes still flicker over at Jun while he gets comfortable, and he is grinning, non-serious. But Jun recognises dismissive behaviour and does not prod any further, aside from one last comment before Sho turns off the lights,

“Unfair when you know my number.”

  
*

_“Always aim for the heart.” the voice tells him, while hands roam over his chest and his upper arms._

_Jun’s hands are shaking, not from the weight of the gun or the thought of the kill. He looks only forward, at an invisible target. Trying to imagine how it feels to kill. But the unbearable touches deprive him of thoughts, of the ability to tell right from wrong._

_He feels so terribly cold, shivers never seizing, as the hands never do either._

_Only when he is left alone, left in total darkness, can he feel the heat come back._

_And the heat is strong._

_Like fire, it consumes him, rolls over his skin like coals, seeps into his blood and his eyes, and he sees red. Only red. The scorching fire washes over him like a tidal wave. For it to one day erupt from him. For it to one day take control._

_He never cries._

_The tears have long since seized to exist in a sphere where everything is burning._

 

*

It has been a week since Jun marked the mission in China, the killing of the leader of the Central Military Commission, as completed. Assassins never ask questions, is never thanked or contacted again by the same client. All that matters is that services are rendered, payment received. It has been a week since Jun walked out the leader’s office, 35 million Japanese yen richer. And it has also been a week since he last saw Sho, who vanished as soon as they touched down in Japan.

Jun does not miss him. He does not. He just maybe would have liked a farewell of some sort. The chances of them working together, seeing each other again, are slim to none after all.

A week of watering his bonsai, cooking homemade meals for one and going to the gym, has already become lonely and too mundane for Jun. Admittedly, he has been out a few times for drinks with his friends – friends who know him as personal life coach Matsumoto – but every time he has walked home feeling lonelier than when he went out. Perhaps, two months of working close together with someone else, bantering and exchanging ideas and thoughts has made him addicted, and now he craves his next fix.

The opportunity comes earlier than expected and surprisingly on a Thursday evening when Jun is talking to his sakura bonsai, asking why it will not bloom for him like the trees outside his windows. The sun is casting heavy, orange light through the windows, and part of Jun wishes he could go for a hanami below the trees. But the promise of enjoying it alone makes the appeal of the thought wither.

Just when he rises from his crouching position by the window sill, his phone rings. The work phone.

When Jun sees the caller ID – Unknown – he knows it is a new job. None other than the organisation knows this number, and the hidden ID confirms it. Jun is happy for this call, it will take him away from the lonely house and distract him. His edginess has been impossible to take away recently, even after three hours in the gym.

“Yes?” is all he says when he picks up, eyes fixed outside the window. He wonders how many hours they will give him this time, to prepare.

“Matsumoto-kun.”

Jun’s eyes widen.

He did not expect to hear that voice at the other end. There is no reason for this man to call him, and especially not on this number.

“How did you get this number?”

 “Jun, Nino is going to call you in a minute.”

Sho’s use of his name makes Jun’s heart beat wildly in his chest – of course without permission – but the message is what truly confuses Jun.

“What?”

Sho’s voice grows darker, and Jun wants to roll his eyes at his cryptic ways, had he not been so taken aback and anxious about this call, “I think you have some unfinished business.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” Jun does not want to even try and consider what Sho means.

Because how could Sho _know_?

“Go reclaim what you lost, Jun.”

And then Sho hangs up.

It leaves Jun staring at his phone with wide, shocked eyes. This cannot be real. Sho cannot know, Jun tells himself. It is not possible. Not when Jun is the only one who knows. Not when it has been so long.

No time is given Jun to make a meaning of Sho’s words, because his phone starts vibrating again a minute later, caller ID is Ninomiya.

“What are you two up to!?” Jun’s voice sounds thin and agitated in his own ears.

“He will be alone in his office from 7 pm. to 8 pm. tomorrow evening. He is supposed to have a meeting, but his client won’t show up. That is your chance.”

Ninomiya’s voice is calm and serious, a far cry from the man’s usual tone and behaviour, and Jun immediately calms down.

This is serious. His colleagues are serious. They are helping him with something he never thought they would ever learn about, and somehow, Jun knows this is Sho’s work. This is what Sho has been working on, since he left Jun at the airport with no farewell.

Jun has no idea why he is doing this, why and how he got Ninomiya to help him. Is there anything the two of them can gain from this? They owe Jun nothing, they should not even be in contact with each other at this point.

Two assassins from the organization being in contact is unheard of. It is even against the rules – as part of security.

Perhaps that is why Sho is doing this? As for Ninomiya…

“I understand.” Jun hears himself agree, an odd calm set over him.

“Good luck.”

Ninomiya hangs up, and as soon as Jun lets his arm fall to his side, phone in hand, adrenaline washes over him. He always thought he had to wait an eternity or more for this. But now, it is within reach. Only 25 years later.

Finally. Finally, finally, _finally._

He does not question the opportunity, does not question Sho and Nino. Oddly enough, he trusts them.


	5. Chapter 5

It is 6:43 pm., and sneaking into the main headquarters of the organisation is easier than Jun predicted. Behind a façade of glass and grey bricks of an Osaka office building hides one of the world’s strongest organisations, called upon should one need to dispose of a particular individual. The front desk is attended by the average pretty woman, hair tied into a tight, round bun, stature prim, smile fake.

Jun rarely comes here, is rarely contacted for a face-to-face meeting – it’s been years since last time – and he has never seen the woman before. But she undoubtedly knows his face and name. That is why she is here. Such a fact, however, is not something Jun allows to get in his way, so with long strides and swaying hips, he makes his way up to her, leaning over the counter confidently, charmingly and takes off his sunglasses.

Despite barely a decade as educated assassin, Jun knows that he is well-known within the organisation, known for his talent at disguises, his talent as a sharp-shooter. But how much does this woman know, besides that?

Getting past the front desk is the least of Jun’s problems and with just the right amount of charm and the right words, Jun slithers gracefully around any inquiring questions, shooting the – now blushing – Satomi a salute when the elevator doors close, effectively separating them and sending Jun off on his way.

Adrenaline has started seeping into his veins, Jun can feel the warmth in his blood, feel how it sharpens his mind. In front of him, there are buttons for 36 floors, including the basement, and one for an emergency stop.

Jun fishes his black leather gloves out from the inside of his suit-jacket.

“And so, the fun begins.”

A gloved fist hits the emergency button, and the elevator gives a jolt, throwing Jun a little off balance as it comes to a sudden halt, the lights turning off in the cramped box. But the lack of sight is not new to Jun, who immediately begins the next step. He has approximately 20 seconds before someone starts asking questions from the speaker-holes in the elevator.

Jun makes quick work of his suit-jacket, throwing it on the floor and stepping out of his loose slacks, adjusting his tight, black cotton trousers found underneath as well as his black turtleneck.

Above him is a vault, an escape route, in this case Jun’s way in, and he reaches for it in the darkness, fingertips finding corners and successfully pushing the piece of metal out of the way. The tunnel above is illuminated by light from several cracks and crooks in the wall to the rooms used for people in front of thousands of computers, of phones; taking calls, receiving money, pleas, requests and controlling individuals like puppeteers.

As for Jun, he is now cutting his strings.

With less than 15 minutes before the elevator below him will start moving again, Jun wastes no time wondering about what way to go, how to go about it. If there is anything he is good at, it is physical actions, and successfully maintaining a strong, flexible physique, Jun trusts his body when making his way up the metal robes, aiming for the 35th floor. It is only 10 floors up.

He is alone, moving on blind faith in an unpredictable man Jun knows close to nothing about, and the organisation’s joker and information thief. Sho would probably shake his head at Jun, telling him how reckless his plan is, how Sho had come up with a plan far better, carefully manufactured in the span of only two hours. But Jun is not the strategist that Sho is, is younger and spontaneous and moves on instinct where Sho uses his knowledge to predict the course of events.

Jun spent most of the night gathering and preparing the necessary tools, and studying the layout of the building - blueprints curtesy of Ninomiya sent in an encrypted email from “Carl Washbucket”. So, if this is a trap, Jun is walking willingly into it, but with a hunch that Nino is not the kind of person who would ever do something like this to betray Jun, even if Jun is just a colleague to a friend of Nino’s. The small man has always been independent and hard to predict, wearing a mischievous smirk the few times Jun has met him. Such a man could be scheming anything.

Would he scheme a revolt?

There is a sharp metallic noise from below, ringing in Jun’s ears, and the robe he is holding onto vibrates threateningly.

This is not the time to question the faith he has put in Sho and Ninomiya, he tells himself, forcing his ever over-thinking mind to shut it, and for his body to take over the steep, difficult climb of pulling himself up, twenty centimetres at a time. First arms, then legs, wrapped tightly around the metal chords.

There is another sound, louder, and the yank in the chords this time makes Jun gasp and scramble for a better hold. He has not got much time. Probably 20 seconds. The elevator has started moving, and the chances of it moving downwards are slim.

Jun pants, groaning at the burn in his biceps and thighs, barely keeping the volume of his panting from the strain down. He must make it. Of course he will make it. He is too prideful to blow this, with how people has cleared the path for him ahead. He just needs to reach that point himself. The metal in his hands starts shaking, the intensity increasing by the second, and Jun clenches his teeth.

Not looking down, he focuses on his goal three metres ahead. Two and a half metres. Two metres…

His muscles are screaming, soaked hair falling into his eyes, and his hands are burning despite the gloves. The chord gives a particularly hard jolt, and one of Jun’s legs loses its hold, and Jun gasps and tightens his fists around the rope, to not fall.

One and a half metres, and the noise from below is rising at an alarming rate, louder and louder.

One metre. And Jun can no longer hear his own panting due to the noise. He can easily imagine himself jumping into the opening of a ventilation shaft in the wall ahead, can almost feel the metal below his hands. Just another 30 centimetres.

A strong gush of wind rises from below, the chord rattles and brutally yanks itself from his sore hands, his legs have nothing to hold onto, and Jun jumps with a yell, eyes shutting.

His body meets hard metal, arms instinctively shooting out to protect his face, and he rolls into the slim tunnel just as a mass of steel, with a scream, whooshes past his face, upwards on its quest as if barely recognising how close it was to pushing a person to his death. A deep breath of relief rushes out of Jun, and he allows himself a few seconds to lean against the inside of the air duct, regaining his breath and flexing his abused hands.

He is _so_ never doing that again.

Jun’s wrists and fingers and legs are sore, but he has no time to waste. A quick look at the discrete wristwatch under his long-sleeved shirt tells him its 6:58. Which means he will have to hurry. To run even.

The shafts are lit by the countless tiny cracks in the metal, some places with air vents through which Jun can make out the shapes of empty dark rooms or rooms where the screens from hundreds of computers and blank projectors cast an eerie blue light. Jun has done this many times before and moves stealthily on the pads of his fingertips and his toes, body curled together to fit into the small space. Having learned not to fear being all boxed in and unable to move much, Jun can make his way forward at a quick pace, never stopping to hesitate or wonder, when the tunnel splits, whether to continue left or right.

Vents start to appear with greater and greater intervals, and Jun starts counting. By the 9th vent to his right, he stops. Stops mid-move like a statue and turns his head slowly to peer through the grid.

He can see the secretary’s office. Can make out the dark, wooden desk, but not the person behind it. To the right of the desk, there is a set of double doors, heavy and set in what is most likely wood and heavy, bulletproof steel. There is no sound in the room, from what Jun can tell, and his own heavy breathing sounds way too noisy in his ears. No time to hang around and consider what should happen if he is walking right into the hands of the president now, caught like a mouse in a trap.

Jun turns around, lying on his back in the tunnel and aims a hard kick against the vent, pushing off with his arms immediately afterwards, to fly through the gap, landing on his haunches two metres below the safety of the tunnels. He manages to take off the blunt of the impact when his shoes hit the carpet, but nevertheless, a thud must have been heard below.

When Jun raises his eyes, tosses his head to throw the hair out of his eyes, he is met with a sleepy stare from across the room, belonging to the president’s secretary. Who – according to Nino – is in on the plan. Jun’s heart is beating wildly in his chest, body held still and ready to draw his gun, should need be.

But the man appears not to react to Jun at all, merely blinking at him, and Jun wonders if he is half-asleep. A small smile appears on his sun-tanned face, and he nods solemnly. Then, without a sound, he suddenly gestures for Jun to come closer quickly, hand frantically waving. As if that is not a complete change of his sleepy character.

Jun has no choice but to obey. He absolutely _despises_ relying on others, although the reaction comes faster than it would have two months ago. It is highly likely that Jun would not have done anything even remotely close to this before he was forced to pair up with Sho, forced to learn to rely on and trust someone else – to a certain extent. In the back of his mind, a voice tells him that it is because it is Sho. Had it been anyone else, there is no way Jun would have taken a risk as great as the one he is taking now.

Slowly, quietly, he takes a couple of steps towards the man, eyes narrowing suspiciously. But then the secretary points at the double doors, motions with his hand that Jun should open the door. That Jun should hurry. Then he gives Jun a thumbs-up and an odd grin which shows off a set of little larger than normal canines. Jun thinks this guy is not entirely normal but does not judge. Everyone in this organization has their quirks.

Time seems to slow down when Jun takes the few steps necessary to reach the door. His heartrate is increasing, but his breathing has evened out. Images flash before his eyes.

Images of himself with a gun in hand; Matsumoto Jun 8 years old. Images of himself crying, curled up on himself in a dark corner, shaking so much he is afraid he will die of it. Images of himself alone. Images of himself with someone else, a dark shadow trailing him, observing him, always. That dark shadow which eventually stopped touching him, stepping back to only watch. But it felt just as intruding, just as violating. He could still feel those relentless hands. The hands he wanted to remove, to kill, to cut away, cut out of his memory.

There is no way the memories will go away, but at least now Jun can remove the being to whom the hands belong.

And as Jun takes a hold of the aluminium handle, pushes it down, he knows that this act will by no means heal him. But that does not matter. That blazing red will never go away. And he will never stop wanting it, will never stop chasing that addictive crimson. However, this way, the ever-lingering hatred which restrains him like heavy shackles will finally shatter, release him to do whatever he desires most.

Silence settles in his ears, all sounds broken off as though he just wrapped his ears in cotton. The only warning before a warmth seeps through him, that red mist in the corners of his eyes.

A middle-aged man with a straight back and a strong face turns around just as Jun steps through the door, but his ever-stoic expression, his ever-haughty stare and confident way of carrying himself shatters like a mirror broken at the sound of a gun. There was no hesitation in the finger that pulled the trigger, only half a second spent to aim.

Jun pushes the door closed behind himself with his foot, watching as the man’s body in front of him twists with the impact of the bullet in his gun-arm, not even halfway towards the weapon on his table. The shock on his face turns to an angry snarl, but Jun shoots that away too, by placing the second bullet in his right arm. Blood soaks through a white shirt, a blue suit-jacket, and the muzzle of Jun’s black gun smokes.

The silence gets broken, but the red only grows stronger,

“How _dare_ you?!” the president’s face is twisted in pain and fury, increasing the depth of his few wrinkles, making him look older. Almost as if he is aging in front of Jun’s eyes, “Do you know what you have just done? You just earned yourself a very painful death.” He continues to threaten.

Jun does not react, does not even blink, merely keeps his gun aimed right between the eyes of the man who took Jun in when he was alone, only to shape and mould Jun to his own satisfaction, “Rather that, than all that you’ve put me through. How dare _you_.” Jun does not honour this creature with any kind of emotion in his words, “To a child. A child!”

“I made you.”

“I never wanted any of this.”

“And yet you’ve embraced it so well, haven’t you, Matsumoto?”

Jun shoots his left thigh, and the man stumbles, tries to grab onto the table, but his arm is useless, and he crumbles to the ground. He disappears out of Jun’s line of sight, his desk heavy with stacks of paper getting in the way. But Jun only needs to take a single step sideways to regain sight of the pathetic man, even unable to clench his thigh in pain due to the severed muscles in his arms. So much for the air of control and authority. So easily ripped away, reducing him to no more than a creature dying. At the mercy of someone else.

“Look at you.” Jun mocks, moving slowly to prolong the suffering this man has earned every right to feel, “You killed and threatened your way to power. Disgusting.”

Vaguely aware of the morbid scene he is causing, Jun shoots the man’s other leg, causing a howl of pain so loud it will undoubtedly be heard on several other floors. This man deserves no easy death.

Jun expects to be caught after this. He suspects he will be punished and killed today, and so, he needs to make the most of this moment, before he leaves this wretched world right after his victim. Part of him just hopes Nino and Sho knows what they got themselves into, or even planned a way out beforehand.

For every twist of pain he sees on the president’s face, a shiver of pleasure and glee runs through Jun; he wants to squeeze out as much fright and anger as he can from this person, wants to see him fall apart and become nothing but a man begging and desperate for the pain to stop. Jun wants to hear the screams he himself could not voice out. They need to be brought into existence, and where Jun cannot, he will extract them from the one who sealed them within Jun to begin with.

Now standing by the president’s feet, watching as the blood seeps onto the floor, soaks the grey carpet, Jun crouches down, eyes fixed upon the president’s face to watch every distortion of pain, every cringe he makes, that takes away another piece of his tough façade, of his dignity and confidence.

“If the previous president could see you now, see how low you’ve stooped,” Jun mocks, slowly, quietly.

And the man in front of him clenches his teeth, only to widen his eyes and groan when Jun’s hand strikes out like a serpent and takes a hold of his bleeding thigh. To squeeze around the bullet wound.

The man screams. Almost so loud it hurts Jun’s ears.

“You are-” he stutters, “You are insane.”

“Says the man who violates children and casts them for their carnivorous thoughts,” When Jun pushes his thumb into the wound, splattering blood on his hand, and seeing real desperation on the president’s face, he tilts his head, “It is only appropriate someone finally comes for you. Why not this child?”

Just as Jun pulls his stained hand away to aim his gun at the man’s eye, his target’s gaze shifts, focuses on something behind Jun. And too late does Jun hear the sound of a door opening, leaving him no time to turn around before a gun goes off behind him.

Jun’s eyes widen, heart skipping a beat. What did he forget? Whom did he forget? Or who betrayed him? Or messed up?

There is a gagging sound, and Jun turns, later telling himself he should stop falling prey to these surprises.

A broad guy in a suit with a square face and empty eyes falls forward on his face, no hands shooting out to take off the blunt of the impact. He does not move and from the back of his head, blood pours from a fresh, gaping bullet-wound. Behind him, Sho lowers his white gun and the metal shimmers in the orange light from a setting sun through huge windows, but holds little appeal in comparison to the smirk on Sho’s face.

“That was a close one.” he grins, and Jun rolls his eyes in exasperation.

Giving Sho no more of his attention, Jun turns back to find the president with eyes wide in shock, in disbelief – in fear?

“Sakurai-san? But you… You!” the president’s now raspy voice starts out incredulous, but then it turns into a furious snarl in understanding, causing Jun to narrow his eyes.

When there is no answer from Sho, when he only looks expectantly at Jun with a raised eyebrow – an almost impatient action – while Jun gets up and throws him a glance, Jun does not expect there to be any further exchange of useful information. And now, with his ex-partner in the room, it is as though Jun wants to waste no more time with the pathetic bleeding guy.

So, it ends like this. Jun staring down at the man on the floor with cold, steely eyes, giving the dying man a few seconds to watch as Sho comes to stand beside Jun, to see how he sealed his own death, how he enabled Jun to carry out his revenge. Jun could not have done this alone, and he wants the president to realise his mistake of putting Jun together with Sho, before Jun ends his life with a bullet nicely settled at the bridge of his nose. The widened wet eyes and mouth downturned in disbelief is an expression Jun thought would etch itself onto his mind, something he would remember forever. But the warmth from another person beside Jun distracts him, so that when he watches the life leave the president’s face, it is with less interest than he thought it would be. So much did not go according to Jun’s predictions.

The blood runs down the man’s paling face, and Jun watches until the man stops gurgling, until his body lies completely still on the floor, in a widening pool of dark red.

He is dead. The hands seized to exist years ago, but what was taken from Jun will never return. The fire remains. Like he wants it to. A fire that craves the presence of pain. To keep the cold at bay. And there is a purpose still.

Jun turns towards Sho, eyes suspicious, “ _Who_ are you?”

It is no surprise when Sho does not grace Jun with an answer, merely seeming to thoroughly study Jun’s eyes and the emotions there, Sho’s own face serious, “Let’s get him out of here.”

But they still lock eyes, moments stretching between the two of them, until Sho continues, “Ohno-san and Nino will deal with the body, and you can search his office if there are any… Answers, you need.”

Together, they drag the body out, not minding how blood gets on their black gloves, to hand it over to Nino, who is sitting on the secretary’s desk, laughing. The small man gives the dead man little attention, simply waving at a corner for Jun and Sho to put him down there.

Back in the office Sho moves to stand by the window, appearing immobile while he gazes down upon the city, watching the last light when the sun disappears behind the skyscrapers of the city, paying the stain and blood on the floor no mind with his hands in the pockets of his black suit-pants. Sho is indirectly telling Jun to search for information, turning his back and a blind eye to whatever Jun wishes to do. At least for the following couple of minutes or so.

And Jun will not waste an opportunity Sho will most likely not give again. With a small smile on his face, Jun moves around the dead president’s desk, searches his drawers and picks the necessary locks. There is so much history here, so many years of devotion put into every completed contract, every assignment, every trained assassin. With Sho so quiet, Jun might as well have been alone, and he acts like it as he makes his way through the useful stuff meticulously, pocketing a gun and a pretty knife with an ebony handle. But it is not until he turns around to face the tall file cabinets that Jun knows what he is searching for has its place here.

All things taken into consideration, the number of personnel that are un-terminated seems to be low. Jun has only opened the bottom drawer, but already he spots several files with a red mark in the top. So many individuals removed, the assassins themselves having become the targets of the organisation. It can only have been the work of the most recent president, the man Jun just killed. It seems Jun did not only do himself a favour when deleting this man.

Jun does not care for the other people in the organisation, does not care for humans in general. But how many loyal employees had to give their life because they started asking questions? Because they knew too much or had been too loyal to the previous president? It is impossible for Jun to know the reason why they were taken out, but it does seem like a terrible waste of talent.

He closes the drawer, moving on to the second one and working faster. When he is about halfway, he comes across his own name.

**File number 21. Matsumoto Jun.**

The numbers are not based on an assassin’s talent, but mostly on when said person entered the organisation or on the power they hold within the company. The president will always be file number 1. For Jun, he knows that the individuals with numbers lower than his – 19, 15, 9 even – are not as good as him. Due to the rules, Jun has never met these people, but he does know how often _he_ is handed a complicated, tricky assignment. And there is not an abundance of those.

Jun does not linger on his file too long, but removes it from the cabinet nevertheless. If it is required back in the cabinet with the others, Jun will simply bring it back. But for now, when he is unsure of where he stands, he will take it with him, for safety measures. Who knows who could enter this office once Jun and Sho have left. He then continues, but for every number he passes, his uncertainty rises, making him question whether Sho’s file is here at all. When he opens the top drawer, no longer needing to crouch down, he has almost given up, only skimming over these papers, instead of meticulously going through all files, only his stubbornness to at least looking through the last 10 makes him persist. And then he freezes.

**File number 3. Sakurai Sho.**

Sho’s back is still facing Jun, eye on the wall in front of him, as he inspects the articles cut out of newspapers and framed in gold as though they are trophies; all evidence of assassinations. He is resting his hands on his hips, giving Jun the time he needs. However, Jun knows Sho is, by all means, aware of Jun, and aware of how Jun is staring at Sho; studying how he fits so well into the office, in his tailored suit, the air of authority and mental strength thick around him.

Sho is number 3. And that can only mean one thing.

Jun shakes his head. At himself and his discovery. With a smile of resignation and quiet amusement – because, he really should have known – Jun returns the file to the cabinet and slowly pushes the drawer back into place. When he turns around, Sho is looking at him, brown eyes unreadable. And when Jun smirks at him, he merely tilts his head, raises his eyebrows as if saying “are you done?”.

Really, will Jun ever be able to read this guy?

*

This time, it feels different. This time, Sho overwhelms Jun and takes him by surprise with no warning and no consideration for what Jun wants. Perhaps because he already knows that what he wants, Jun wants as well.

Jun barely manages to close and lock the door behind them, before Sho is in his space, crowding him against the door and leaving no time nor room for hesitation or talk when he steals Jun’s lips and sucks the air out of Jun’s lungs. One of Sho’s hands is below Jun’s chin, fingers framing his jaw and tilting Jun’s head to Sho’s liking, for him to forcefully invade Jun’s mouth with his tongue, tasting and taking as much as he can, while his other hand rests on Jun’s hip, dragging their pelvises together.

Jun hears himself moan into Sho’s mouth, arousal pooling in his groin when he tries to wrap his arm around Sho’s waist and Sho catches his wrist to pin Jun’s arm above his head. Jun is then pushed flush against the door, breath hitching when Sho’s erection pokes his upper thigh.

Again, not much is said, the silence around them mostly disturbed by their pants and moans, the sound of their mouths coming together, the thumping sound the door makes every time Jun pushes back against Sho, only for Sho to force him back and trap him again. It is a constant pull and push, and the fire roars in Jun at being handled like this, fighting someone who can actually overpower Jun. To Jun, such a feeling is new and thrilling, addicting even, and his head spins, he feels drunk and yet craves more and more still.

Jun is certain Sho has various plans for what is to happen to them from now on, but Jun himself has no idea, opting to go with the flow. But whether he is in the organisation tomorrow or he is not, Jun is certain he will still be an assassin and Sho’s partner.

-

It stings when teeth close around Jun’s stiff and red nipple and they tug, hard. Jun can see, but his vision is blurry, as heated and frazzled around the edges as his body feels. He desperately wants to reach out and sink his nails and teeth into the soft skin of the creature looming above him, to repay him for the way he leaves one mark after another all over Jun’s pale skin. There are already purplish bruises sucked around Jun’s hipbones, bitemarks at his biceps, and if Sho keeps tugging and sucking at Jun’s nipples, they too, will be sore and hurt tomorrow.

But Jun has never been as turned on as he is now, he has never experienced a heat as strong as the one Sho provocatively brings out of Jun’s body. The haze of red is almost too much and yet so addictive.

Jun arches his back and brings Sho closer by hooking a leg around his waist, feeling moving muscles and bone under his heel. It earns him a hiss by his ear and a lick along the side of Jun’s face.

“That’s it Jun. Fight me.” As Sho says this, his warm hand slides up Jun’s chest and his long neck, past the leather there to wrap his fingers around Jun’s throat, just below the jawbone.

Sho’s eyes are as dark as obsidian while he watches how Jun gasps. The hold is not strong enough to choke Jun, but it makes it difficult for Jun to breathe, breath becoming raspy. As Jun trashes against the sheets, there is a jingly sound of two light chains above his head, connected to the cuffs around his wrists.

When Sho showed him the three pieces of soft leather and the chains, Jun’s mouth went dry. It almost made him believe that Sho could see right through him, not only predicting Jun’s past but reading his mind too, seeing his darkest desires. But then Jun noticed the question in Sho’s eyes, and knew that this was not as much Sho predicting what Jun wants as it was showing Jun what Sho wants. It just so happens that they want the same thing.

So as Jun relinquished control, by letting Sho tie his hands to the bedposts and tighten the collar around his neck, he gave Sho the power, just so he could fight Sho in return to try and gain it back.

Sho leans down then, biting softly at Jun’s lips while he still holds Jun’s jaw in place and earns a deep growl from Jun in return.

Sho chuckles in that deep baritone of his, “Are you gonna bite me?”

It is more of an observation than a question, because right after, Jun sinks his teeth into Sho’s fat bottom lip and does not let go, merely tugging when Sho pulls away, holding onto Sho’s gaze defiantly. Then there is Sho’s free hand by his thigh, fingers pulling strongly to force Jun’s leg to unlock from around Sho’s waist – which Jun is reluctant to – but only to tug it upwards, for Sho’s palm to stroke down the fat muscle and make Jun clench around nothing in anticipation, impatient for Sho to finally touch him.

Sho releases Jun’s neck right before Jun whines and trembles when the tickling of Sho’s fingers on his skin goes straight to his leaking erection, precome smearing on his lower belly. Sho bites along his neck now, tongue sneaking under the leather collar just to tease before his mouth finds Jun’s ear and he licks around it, only for the wet muscle to move inside, making Jun moan filthily. 

The fingers are now teasing around Jun’s rim, and Jun bites his bottom lip, gnawing on it in anticipation and to keep the sounds, he so wishes to whisper into Sho’s ear, at bay.

Jun remembers the marks left on him the last time; the bruises, the bitemarks, the hickies. And he remembers how Sho’s eyes would flit to the wound on his arm every time Jun changed his shirt, every time he stepped out of the shower with just a towel around his waist.

Sho appears to have been holding back, and the thought pleases Jun. That means Sho wants Jun as much as Jun wants Sho. This mysterious partner he was given, a man whose family has been involved in the organisation for generations. Someone who can tear Jun apart so easily, someone Jun would tear apart in return.

“Say my name.” Sho is now circling Jun’s hole, already stretched from thorough preparation earlier.

As opposed to the last time, they take their time; Jun gets to feel Sho’s mouth all over him, gets to feel how easily Sho finds all of his most pleasurable and ticklish spots. And earlier, Sho showed Jun exactly how to be aware of every single sensitive nerve-end inside himself, when Sho used three fingers to probe around, to slick him up. As opposed to last time, Jun sees Sho’s face clearly, gives himself over to everything that Sho is.

Jun looks up into Sho’s eyes through his eyelashes and pants heavily, mouth open and gaze sultry, “Sho-”

Sho’s hand shoots out and grabs Jun’s hair by the back of his neck, twists his fingers into the locks and pulls down harshly, exposing Jun’s neck and making him swallow a surprised gasp. Then Sho’s breath is in his face, three fingers penetrating his opening, and Jun cannot draw back, his body can only jolt in the restraints, with the painful hold Sho has on his hair.

“Again.”

“Nggh, Sho.” Jun pants and Sho kisses him, wet tongue plunging into Jun’s mouth like Sho’s fingers in his ass. And he draws his tongue back, only to thrust it into Jun’s mouth again, tongue fucking Jun’s mouth in a matching rhythm to how he thrusts his fingers into Jun.

It feels amazing, the burning stretch making Jun see stars, but it is not enough. Jun needs something more, something thicker, he needs Sho to fuck him. They both need that, and this is a ridiculous waste of time. Jun voices as much, albeit words coming out in half-annoyed gasps when he finally manages to twist his head – even if Sho’s fingers in his hair are relentless and it hurts Jun’s scalp – and get his mouth free.

Jun watches as Sho’s smirk turns to a wicked grin, “You know just what to say, don’t you? Such a viper.”

But Sho obeys, drawing out his fingers, only to brings his hand to Jun’s mouth. His thumb pressing in between Jun’s lips to push against the bottom row of teeth, and Sho’s eyes are shining, mouth partly open as he looms above Jun. Jun can see how aroused Sho is, can hear his pants, feel his hard, leaking cock now mere centimetres from Jun’s hole, and yet he wishes he could know what Sho is thinking right in this moment. What he sees; all the positions he wishes to see Jun in, all the things he wants to do to Jun. But there is time from now on, time for Jun to learn these things.

When Sho lets go of Jun’s hair, keeping Jun’s mouth open, Jun prepares himself for it, sees what Sho aims to do, and Jun plans on giving it to him, tenfold. Nails dig their way into the flesh of Jun’s ass, Jun groans at the sting, just before Sho pulls Jun forward against him. The chains become taunt and pull on Jun’s arms, stretching them above his head, efficiently making him feel restrained.

And then Jun gets filled up, feels Sho’s cock making its way into him in one firm thrust. A drawn-out moan is torn from him, loud with Sho’s fingers keeping Jun’s mouth wide open, and Sho groans darkly in turn above Jun, the pleasure evident in his expression, in the sweat starting to run down the side of his face.

Jun’s back automatically arches, and he wraps his legs tightly around Sho’s waist, drawing him close, closer still and deeper, deeper. He buries his face in Sho’s neck, inhaling Sho’s scent of musky cologne and fresh linen, and gasping soundlessly at every hard, deep thrust inwards, taking it, taking it while he can only wait until it stops hurting, until Sho hits the right spot, and pleasure shoots up his spine.

“Sho. ShoShoSho.” He chants, voice breaking.

Sho is bending down over Jun, their damp chests rubbing against each other, and Sho’s thrusts are as hard as Jun wants them, harder and harder as Sho speeds up, as his relentless hold on Jun draws Jun’s lower half against Sho’s pelvis at each rut forward. He is panting, grunting occasionally once Jun starts lifting his hips up against Sho’s cock, meeting him halfway. The pace is steady but every thrust Sho gives inward and upward is _hard_ and _deep_.

Jun does not need for Sho to touch his neglected cock; the pain at his wrists, the tightness around his neck which becomes a slightly choking sensation now that the room is hot and the chains taunt, now that Jun’s body heats up and his muscles strain, and the perfect fullness he feels with Sho inside him is more than enough. Warmth and tendrils of electricity start to coil in his stomach.

Then Sho’s lips brush against his ear, “Mine.”

Jun’s breath hitches, and he is filled with the desire to wrap his arms around Sho’s torso, instead crossing his legs at the small of Sho’s back and testing the chains again when Jun pulls forward – and there is a pain at muscles over-stretched in his shoulders at the strain – succeeding in biting Sho’s shoulder.

“Mine. _All mine_.” Sho repeats again, voice rough and possessive.

“Show me,” Jun whispers back, just before Sho shifts and snaps his hips hard – _brutally_ – forward and hits a spot that makes Jun yell, “S- Show me, Sho.”

Jun thinks he will never get enough of what Sho gives him, what Sho takes. Particularly because every time Jun feels that it cannot possibly get any better, any deeper, or he cannot possibly feel more pleasure, Sho then makes him feel even more, pushing the limits of them both.

Now, Sho moves to grab Jun’s other leg, hooking his hand under Jun’s knee and lifts it to his shoulder, his cock sinking so far at the next thrust that Jun momentarily forgets how to breathe. But Sho is not done. The next second, Jun starts at the sensation of pressure at his rim, a soft tickle compared to Sho’s length still penetrating Jun again and again and again. Then, before Jun can realise what Sho is planning, the forgotten burn around his inner walls comes back, and Jun groans, can only take a hold of the headboard to bear it, when Sho sinks a finger all the way inside Jun and starts pumping it in and out alongside his cock.

It does not take long after that. Jun is stretched thin, the coil in his lower stomach so taunt that Sho starts mumbling profanities of _so tight, god so tight Jun_ , and at one brutal thrust out of many, just when Sho sinks his teeth into the soft skin of Jun’s neck, Jun comes with a loud moan, body arching uncontrollably. And when Sho comes too, in that exact moment, the warmth of his come in Jun has Jun’s body trembling, orgasm prolonged.

In that moment, the carmine sheen before Jun’s eyes is substituted for a wall of white, stars obscuring Jun’s vision and momentarily blinding him.

It is only when he feels Sho’s weight rolling down beside him, that Jun comes to and regains his bearings.

*

Jun is stretching like a cat on the bed, naked and on his stomach, and Sho’s staring does not go unnoticed. The other assassin is standing by the window, drying his hair, naked but for a second towel around his middle. His eyes are darkening, and Jun smiles smugly, eyes heavy-lidded, gaze never leaving Sho’s.

“How come,” Jun starts, tilting his head charmingly, “there was no blood after you tortured Zheng Chen?”

Sho is smirking, Jun can see it in Sho’s eyes above the glass of whiskey, “Not all torture is done with a weapon of steel.”

“Psychological torture.” Jun realises when he says the words. He really should have guessed as much.

Sho’s expression is pure amusement, and Jun feels that tell-tale chill running down his spine. A chill that signals both danger and incredible arousal.

“And you crave pain.” Sho’s eyes are all black above his smile.

Jun nods, “I crave pain. But don’t you _dare_ go psychological on me.”

The last part is a serious warning, one that, when it is given, has Jun’s chest clench painfully. However, there is no part of Jun that suspects Sho would ever perform his torture on Jun. And Sho confirms it, puts whatever fears, Jun has, to rest.

“I will give you pain,” Sho’s voice is low, foreboding and dark, and he has taken a step closer to the bed, “But I will not hurt you.”

Warmth spreads in Jun, a warmth he has never felt before, yet recognizes. A sign of attraction which is more than physical; want that exceeds bodily pleasure. The wish to give deeper than the wish to receive.

Imagery of fat, dilated pupils burns through Jun’s mind. Accompanied by fantasies of soft, dark brown hair, full lips whispering encouragements, manly hands on an exposed, pale back, the sound of leather hitting skin, hard. Leaving a burning sting.

Then the phone at the bedside rings.

Jun’s eyes do not leave Sho’s when he crawls the few metres to reach the phone, and his stomach hits the clean sheets again as he brings the device to his ear,

“Hello?”

“You sound tired and positive for once. I bet you and Sho-chan had the world’s roughest fuck just now.”

“Shut up Nino, I know you are banging that secretary guy.”

Nino chuckles good-naturedly on the other end, and the bed dips when Sho sits down next to Jun. Jun shivers when Sho touches his nape.

“So…” for once Nino sounds hesitant, and Jun must admit he is surprised, “Are you ok? This will change everything, you know.”

The hand by Jun’s neck travels down his back, rubs circles into his sore hipbone.

“I know.”

“We’ve got your back, J.”

At that, Jun blinks. Does not even bat an eye at the nickname, when he never expected to hear such words. Not to him. And never from Nino. From anyone actually.

Now there are warm lips just below his hairline, beginning the journey already mapped out by a strong, but soft, hand.

Jun smiles, “Thank you, Nino. You know this drastically changes our relationship too, right?”

He imagines he can hear Nino’s grin through the phone, “Of course! I own your life now.”

An unexpected growl above him makes Jun raise his head, “ _Think again,_ Nino.”

The phone drops unceremoniously onto the floor, and Jun is pushed to roll onto his back.

 

 

 

**Epilogue**  
  
The soft jingling sound of keys warns Jun before the lock is turned, and the door opens. There is the recognizable shuffle of feet, and warmth immediately seeps through Jun’s chest.

“I am home.”

“Welcome back.”

Jun dries his hands in the white apron around his waist as he makes his way to the genkan.

A familiar round face and pouty lips come into view, along with the rest of Sho in a big, brown winter-coat which he is struggling to get off, along with his black leather-gloves and red scarf. With the way he keeps glancing impatiently in Jun’s direction, while he goes through this process, Jun guesses that Sho sees the big smile on Jun’s face, and Jun cannot help but feel warm in his cheeks. Trust this man to make Jun all soft and embarrassed.

“I missed you.” Sho says then and boldly steps right into Jun’s space and wraps an arm around his slim waist. He places a hard kiss against Jun’s lips, one Jun feels all the way down to his toes.

When he leans back, Jun raises his hand to place two fingers against Sho’s mouth, though already missing the feeling of Sho’s wet tongue moving against his.

“Your lips are ice cold. Hurry inside. I hope you don’t get sick.”

“Understood, captain.” Sho teases, but nevertheless lets Jun pull him along into their living room.

Jun catches Sho’s grin when he finally lets go of Sho’s hand, “Dinner is almost ready. I will bring it to you.”

It does not take long to reheat the sauce and bring the water with fresh pasta to a boil. While Jun is doing this, he listens to the soft noises Sho makes in their living room as he goes to place his briefcase and files in his office, progressing to the bedroom where he most likely changes out of his suit and into his favourite grey and black Nike sweats and a t-shirt, and back to the living room where he greets Jun’s bonsai as per habit.

With a smile, Jun wishes that he opts to wear that particular brown V-neck shirt for today.

“How was work?” The daily question reveals that Sho is back in the chair by the dining table, ready with his newspaper.

“Hmm, as usual. One of our customers complained that her stupid kid doesn’t like dark chocolate. I told her to go to the convenience store around the corner and get some Meiji. Seriously, why even bother visiting my store when you have no taste?”

Sho snorts, his grin disappearing behind the newspaper.

For half a year, Jun has been managing his own chocolate and pastry café just a few blocks from their apartment. He works as both owner and chef at the place, occationally creating and serving original sweets according to his mood, made with the greatest care and precision. Work, which he actually does not mind spending his time on, when he is not otherwise occupied.

As opposed to Sho who is constantly complaining about having to put up with untalented people, who cannot hit a target, who cannot stomach simple anatomy lectures. When he gets particularly annoying, Jun tells him that the job pays well, and that Jun finds the suits Sho wears hot, especially with a loosened tie. It is only partly a lie. They both prefer Sho’s tight, black clothes. And Sho’s ties used for other purposes.

“Nino contacted me.”

At that, Sho visibly perks up, straightening as a sign of his attention. Jun suspects he no longer reads the letters in the newspaper.

“He’s got a job for us.”

Jun unties the apron and meticulously goes to put it on its rack before picking up the plate of pasta. At the table, he places the dish before Sho, but keeps standing behind the other man, only to wrap his arms around his exposed neck, leaning some of his weight onto Sho’s heavily-muscled back and shoulders.

The fabric under Jun’s fingertips is brown, a sign that Sho wants exactly what Jun wants tonight.

Jun nibbles Sho’s ear, listening in joy at Sho’s sharp inhale.

“That man never leaves us alone,” Sho complains, but Jun knows he does not really mind it. Sho will use any opportunity he can get to escape his teaching job and get some action himself.

“He is still sleeping with his secretary,” Jun smirks, “Knowing you, you can probably use this information to get back at him.”

Sho turns in Jun’s arms, holding one of them prisoner to reach up and capture Jun’s lips with his own. When his tongue makes its way through Jun’s parted lips, Jun cannot help the quiet moan.

“Careful Jun. It would be a shame for the food to grow cold.”

Sho leans back and turns to his food. Jun hums into Sho’s soft, black hair, wondering if his seduction skills are getting rusty.

“Better hurry then. I will give you 10 minutes. Something more important craves our attention now.” Jun whispers.

“Such a shame. I looked forward to your food.”

“I promise you, the reward is worth the hurry.”


End file.
